^ 1.  iiiuot  iCTtuijivjvi  Lu  tuc  j-iluiaij' 

Avitliin  TWO  AYEEKS  after  it  is  drawn.  The 
Drawer  will  subject  himself  to  a fine  hvo  cents 


fcr  day  for  eve]^  day  he  shall  retain  it  after  the 
first  two  weeks.  ;• 


2.  If  this  Eook  is  lost,  defacnd  or  injured,  the 
Di'awcr  shall  make  good  the  same  to  the  Libra- 
rian, subject,  however,  to  appeal  to  the  Board  of 
Trustees. 

3.  The  Drawer  shall  not  lend  this  Book,  nor 
to  be  taken  out  of  his  possession  while 
ontrol  of  it.  For  violating  this  Rule  he 

shall  1)0  fined  at  the  discretion  of  the  Librarian, 
subj('ct  to  a])peal  as  above. 


\Jf  -i-  'I'll- 

\\  allow  it 
Hi  he  has  c 


h 


THE  POLITICAL  ECONOxMY  OF  ART. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/politicaleconomy00rusk_0 


THE 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY 


OF 

ART: 


BEING  THE  SUBSTANCE  (WITH  ADDITIONS)  OF  TWO 
LECTURES 

DELIVERED  AT  MANCHESTER,  JULY  IOtii  and  13th,  1857. 


BY 

JOHN  RUSKIN,  M.A., 

AUTHOR  OF  “ MODERN  PAINTERS,”  “ ELEMENTS  OF  DRAMHNG,” 
“lectures  on  ARCHITECTURE  AND  PAINTING,” 

ETC.  ETC. 


NEW  YORK ; 

WILEY  & HALS  TED, 

No.  851  BROAD  WA'T, 

1 8 5 8. 


m' 


CONTENTS. 


PAOR 

Lecture  I. 11 

1.  Discoveiy 24 

2.  Application 30 

Lecture  II 50 

3.  Accumulation 50 

4.  Distribution * . . . 11 

Addenda 95 

Note  1. — “ Fatherly  Authority  95 

“ 2. — “ Right  to  Public  Support  ” 99 

“ 3. — “ Trial  Schools  ” * . . 4 . . . . 104 

“ 4. — “ Public  Favour  ” . 4 110 

“ 5. — “ Invention  of  new  wants  ” ......  Ill 

“ 6. — “ Economy  of  Literature  ” 113 

“ 7. — “ Pilots  of  the  State  ” 115 

“ 8. — “ Silk  and  Purple  ” 110 


PREFACE. 


The  greater  part  of  the  following  treatise  remains  in  the  exac 
form  in  which  it  was  read  at  Manchester ; but  the  more  familiar 
passages  of  it,  which  were  trusted  to  extempore  delivery,  have  been 
since  written  with  greater  explicitness  and  fulness  than  I could 
give  them  in  speaking ; and  a considerable  number  of  notes  are 
added,  to  explain  the  points  which  could  not  be  sufficiently  con- 
sidered in  the  time  I had  at  my  disposal  in  the  lecture-room. 

Some  apology  may  be  thought  due  to  the  reader,  for  an  en- 
deavour to  engage  his  attention  on  a subject  of  which  no  profound 
study  seems  compatible  with  the  work  in  which  I am  usually  em- 
ployed. But  profound  study  is  not,  in  this  case,  necessary  cither 
to  writer  or  reader,  while  accurate  study,  up  to  a certain  point,  is 
necessary  for  us  all.  Political  economy  means,  in  plain  English, 
nothing  more  than  “ citizens’ economy and  its  first  principles 
ought,  therefore,  to  be  understood  by  all  who  mean  to  take  the 
responsibility  of  citizens,  as  those  of  household  economy  by  all 
who  take  the  responsibility  of  householders.  Nor  are  its  first 
principles  in  the  least  obscure : they  are,  many  of  them,  disagreeable 


viii 


PREFACE. 


in  their  practical  requirements,  and  people  in  general  pretend  that 
they  cannot  understand,  because  they  are  unwilling  to  obey  them  ; 
or  rather,  by  habitual  disobedience,  destroy  their  capacity  of  un- 
derstanding them.  But  there  is  not  one  of  the  really  great  prin- 
ciples of  the  science  which  is  either  obscure  or  disputable — which 
might  not  be  taught  to  a youth  as  soon  as  he  can  be  trusted  with 
an  annual  allowance,  or  to  a young  lady  as  soon  as  she  is  of  age  to 
bo  taken  into  counsel  by  the  housekeeper. 

I might,  with  more  appearance  of  justice,  be  blamed  for  think- 
ing it  necessary  to  enforce  what  everybody  is  supposed  to  know. 
But  this  fault  will  hardly  be  found  with  me,  while  the  commercial 
events  recorded  daily  in  our  journals,  and  still  more  the  explana- 
tions attempted  to  be  given  of  them,  show  that  a large  number  of 
our  so-called  merchants  are  as  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  money  as 
they  are  reckless,  unjust,  and  unfortunate  in  its  employment. 

The  statements  of  economical  principle  given  in  the  text,  though 
I know  that  most,  if  not  all,  of  them  are  accepted  by  existing  au- 
thorities on  the  science,  are  not  supported  by  references,  because  I 
have  never  read  any  author  on  political  economy,  except  Adam 
Smith,  twenty  years  agOk  Whenever  I have  taken  up  any  modern 
book  upon  this  subject,  I have  usually  found  it  encumbered  with 
iiHjuirics  into  accidental  or  minor  commercial  results,  for  the  pursuit 
of  whicli  an  ordinary  reader  could  have  no  leisure,  and,  by  the 
complication  of  which,  it  seemed  to  me,  the  authors  themselves  had 
been  not  unfrequently  prevented  from  seeing  to  the  root  of  the 
business. 


PREFACE. 


ix 


Finally,  if  the  reader  should  feel  inclined  to  blame  me  for  too 
sanguine  a statement  of  future  possibilities  in  political  practice,  let 
him  consider  how  absurd  it  would  have  appeared  in  the  days  of 
Edward  I.  if  the  present  state  of  social  economy  had  been  then 
predicted  as  necessary,  or  even  described  as  possible.  And  I be- 
lieve the  advance  from  the  days  of  Edward  I.  to  our  own,  great  as 
it  is  confessedly,  consists,  not  so  much  in  what  we  have  actually 
accomplished,  as  in  what  we  are  now  enabled  to  conceive. 


rOLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


LKCTURE  I. 

Among  the  various  characteristics  of  the  age  in  which  wc  live, 
as  compared  with  other  ages  of  this  not  yet  very  experienced 
world,  one  of  the  most  notable  appears  to  me  to  be  the  just 
and  wholesome  contempt  in  which  we  hold  poverty.  I repeat,  the 
just  and  wholesome  contempt ; though  I see  that  some  of  my  hear- 
ers look  surprised  at  the  expression.  I assure  them,  I use  it  in 
sincerity;  and  I should  not  have  ventured  to  ask  you  to  listen 
to  me  this  evening,  unless  I had  entertained  a profound  respect 
for  wealth — true  wealth,  that  is  to  say;  for,  of  course,  we  ought 
to  respect  neither  wealth  nor  anything  else  that  is  false  of  its 
kind:  and  the  distinction  between  real  and  false  wealth  is  one 
of  the  points  on  which  I shall  have  a few  words  presently  to 
say  to  you.  But  true  wealth  I hold,  as  I said,  in  great  honour ; 
and  sympathize,  for  the  most  part,  with  that  extraordinary  feel- 
ing of  the  present  age  which  publicly  pays  this  honour  to  riches. 
I cannot,  however,  help  noticing  how  extraordinary  it  is,  and  how 
this  epoch  of  ours  differs  from  all  bygone  epochs  in  having  no 
philosophical  nor  religious  worshippers  of  the  ragged  godship  of 
poverty.  In  the  classical  agesj  not  only  were  there  people  who 
voluntarily  lived  in  tubs,  and  who  used  gravely  to  maintain  the 
superiority  of  tub-life  to  town-life,  but  the  Greeks  and  Latins 


12 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


seem  to  have  looked  on  these  eccentric,  and  I do  not  scruple 
to  say,  absurd  people,  with  as  much  respect  as  we  do  upon  large 
capitalists  and  landed  proprietors ; so  that  really,  in  those  days,  no 
one  could  be  described  as  purse  proud,  but  only  as  empty-purse 
proud.  And  no  less  distinct  than  the  honour  which  those  curious 
Greek  people  pay  to  their  conceited  poor,  is  the  disrespectful  man- 
ner in  which  they  speak  of  the  rich ; so  that  one  cannot  listen 
long  either  to  them,  or  to  the  Roman  writers  who  imitated  them, 
Avithout  finding  oneself  entangled  in  all  sorts  of  plausible  absurdi- 
ties ; hard  upon  being  convinced  of  the  uselessness  of  collecting 
that  heavy  yellow  substance  which  we  call  gold,  and  led  generally 
to  doubt  all  the  most  established  maxims  of  political  economy.  Nor 
are  matters  much  better  in  the  middle  ages.  For  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  contented  themselves  with  mocking  at  rich  people,  and 
constructing  merry  dialogues  between  Charon  and  Diogenes  or 
Menippus,  in  which  the  ferrymen  and  the  cynic  rejoiced  together 
as  they  saw  kings  and  rich  men  coming  down  to  the  shore  of 
Acheron,  in  lamenting  and  lamentable  crowds,  casting  their 
crowns  into  the  dark  waters,  and  searching,  sometimes  in  vain,  for 
the  last  coin  out  of  all  their  treasures  that  could  ever  be  of  use  to 
them.  But  these  Pagan  views  of  the  matter  were  indulgent, 
compared  with  those  which  were  held  in  the  middle  ages^ 
when  wealth  seems  to  have  been  looked  upon  by  the  best  of  men 
not  only  as  contemptible,  but  as  criminal.  The  purse  round  the 
neck  is,  then,  one  of  the  principal  signs  of  condemnation  in  the 
pictured  inferno;  and  the  Spirit  of  Poverty  is  reverenced  with 
subjection  of  heart,  and  faithfulness  of  affection,  like  that  of  a 
loyal  knight  for  his  lady,  or  a loyal  subject  for  his  queen. 
And  truly,  it  rcquii-cs  some  boldness  to  quit  ourselves  of  these 
feelings,  and  to  confess  their  partiality  or  their  error,  which, 
nevertheless,  we  are  certainly  bound  to  do.  For  wealth  is  simply 
one  of  the  greatest  powers  which  can  be  entrusted  to  human 
liands : a power,  not  indeed  to  be  envied,  because  it  seldom 


LECT.  I.]  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  IS 

makes  us  happy;  but  still  less  to  be  abdicated  or  despised; 
while,  in  these  days,  and  in  this  country,  it  has  become  a 
power  all  the  more  notable,  in  that  the  possessions  of  a rich  man 
are  not  represented,  as  they  used  to  be,  by  wedges  of  gold  or 
coffers  of  jewels,  but  by  masses  of  men  variously  employed,  over 
whose  bodies  and  minds  the  wealth,  according  to  its  direction, 
exercises  harmful  or  helpful  influence,  and  becomes,  in  that  alter- 
native, Mammon  either  of  Unrighteousness  or  of  Righteousness. 

Now,  it  seemed  to  me  that  since,  in  the  name  you  have  given 
to  this  great  gathering  of  British  pictures,  you  recognise  them  as 
Treasures — that  is,  I suppose,  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  real  wealth 
of  the  country — you  might  not  be  uninterested  in  tracing  certain 
commercial  questions  connected  with  this  particular  form  of 
w^ealth.  Most  persons  express  themselves  as  surprised  at  its 
quantity ; not  having  known  before  to  what  an  extent  good  art 
had  been  accumulated  in  England ; and  it  will,  therefore,  I should 
think,  be  held  a worthy  subject  of  consideration,  what  are  the 
political  interests  involved  in  such  accumulations ; what  kind  of 
labour  they  represent,  and  how  this  labour  may  in  general  be 
applied  and  economized,  so  as  to  produce  the  richest  results. 

Now,  you  must  have  patience  with  me,  if  in  approaching  the 
specialty  of  this  subject,  I dwell  a little  on  certain  points  of 
general  political  science  already  known  or  established : for  though 
thus,  as  I believe,  established,  some  which  I shall  have  occasion  to 
rest  arguments  on  are  not  yet  by  any  means  universally  accepted ; 
and  therefore,  though  I will  not  lose  time  in  any  detailed  defence 
of  them,  it  is  necessary  that  I should  distinctly  tell  you  in  what 
form  I receive,  and  wdsh  to  argue  from  them ; and  this  the  more, 
because  there  may  perhaps  be  a part  of  my  audience  who  have 
not  interested  themselves  in  political  economy,  as  it  bears  on 
ordinaiy  fields  of  labour,  but  may  yet  wish  to  hear  in  what  way 
its  principles  can  be  applied  to  Art.  I shall,  therefore,  take  leave 
to  trespass  on  your  patience  with  a few  elementary  statements  in 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


14 


[lect.  I. 


tlie  outset,  and  with  the  expression  of  some  general  principles, 
here  and  there,  in  the  course  of  our  particular  inquiry. 

To  begin,  then,  with  one  of  these  necessary  truisms:  all 
economy,  whether  of  states,  households,  or  individuals,  may  be 
defined  to  be  the  art  of  managing  labour.  The  world  is  so  regu- 
lated by  the  laws  of  Providence,  that  a man’s  labour,  well  applied, 
is  always  amply  suflScient  to  provide  him  during  his  life  with  all 
things  needful  to  him,  and  not  only  with  those,  but  with  many 
pleasant  objects  of  luxury ; and  yet  farther,  to  procure  him  large 
intervals  of  healthful  rest  and  serviceable  leisure.  And  a nation’s 
labour,  well  applied,  is  in  like  manner  amply  sufficient  to  provide 
its  whole  population  with  good  food  and  comfortable  habitation ; 
and  not  with  those  only,  but  with  good  education  besides,  and 
objects  of  luxury,  art  treasures,  such  as  these  you  have  around  you 
now.  But  by  those  same  laws  of  Nature  and  Providence,  if  the 
labour  of  the  nation  or  of  the  individual  be  misapplied,  and  much 
more  if  it  be  insufiScient, — if  the  nation  or  man  be  indolent  and 
unwise, — suffering  and  want  result,  exactly  in  proportion  to  the 
indolence  and  improvidence, — to  the  refusal  of  labour,  or  to  the 
misapplication  of  it.  Wherever  you  see  want,  or  misery,  or  degra- 
dation, in  this  world  about  you,  there,  be  sure,  either  i/idustry  has 
been  wanting,  or  industry  has  been  in  error.  It  is  not  accident,  it 
is  not  Ilcaven-commanded  calamity,  it  is  not  the  original  and  ine- 
vitable evil  of  man’s  nature,  which  fill  your  streets  with  lamen- 
tation, and  your  graves  with  prey.  It  is  only  that,  when  there 
should  have  been  providence,  there  has  been  waste ; when  there 
should  have  been  labour,  there  has  been  lasciviousness;  and  wilful- 
ncss,  when  there  should  have  been  subordination.’ 

Now,  we  have  warped  the  word  “ economy”  in  our  English 
language  into  a meaning  which  it  has  no  business  whatever  to 
bear.  In  our  use  of  it,  it  constantly  signifies  merely  sparing  or 


* Proverbs  xiii.  23,  “ Much  food  is  in  the  tillage  of  the  poor,  but  there  is 
that  is  destroyed  for  want  of  judgment.” 


LECT.  I.J  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  15 

saving;  economy  of  money  means  saving  money — economy  of 
time,  sparing  time,  and  so  on.  But  that  is  a wholly  barbarous  use 
of  the  word — barbarous  in  a double  sense,  for  it  is  not  English, 
and  it  is  bad  Greek ; barbarous  in  a treble  sense,  for  it  is  not 
English,  it  is  bad  Greek,  and  it  is  worse  sense.  Economy  no  more 
means  saving  money  than  it  means  spending  money.  It  means, 
the  administration  of  a house;  its  stewardship;  spending  or  saving 
that  is,  whether  money  or  time,  or  anything  else,  to  the  best  pos- 
sible advantage.  In  the  simplest  and  clearest  definition  of  it, 
economy,  whether  public  or  private,  means  the  wise  management 
of  labour ; and  it  means  this  mainly  in  three  senses  : namely,  first, 
applying  your  labour  rationally ; secondly,  preserving  its  produce 
carefully ; lastly,  distributing  its  produce  seasonably. 

I say  first,  applying  your  labour  rationally  ; that  is,  so  as  to  ob- 
tain the  most  precious  things  you  can,  and  the  most  lasting  things, 
by  it : not  growing  oats  in  land  where  you  can  grow  wheat,  nor 
putting  fine  embroidery  on  a stuff  that  will  not  wear.  Secondly, 
preserving  its  produce  carefully ; that  is  to  say,  laying  up  your 
wheat  wisely  in  storehouses  for  the  time  of  famine,  and  keeping 
your  embroidery  watchfully  from  the  moth  ; and  lastly,  distribut- 
ing its  produce  seasonably;  that  is  to  say,  being  able  to  carry  your 
corn  at  once  to  the  place  where  the  people  are  hungry,  and  your 
embroideries  to  the  places  where  they  are  gay ; so  fulfilling  in  all 
ways  the  Wise  Man’s  description,  whether  of  the  queenly  house- 
wife or  queenly  nation : “ She  riseth  while  it  is  yet  night,  and 
giveth  meat  to  her  household,  and  a portion  to  her  maidens.  She 
maketh  herself  coverings  of  tapestry,  her  clothing  is  silk  and  pur- 
ple. Strength  and  honour  are  in  her  clothing,  and  she  shall 
rejoice  in  time  to  come.” 

Now,  you  will  observe  that  in-  this  description  of  the  perfect 
economist,  or  mistress  of  a household,  there  is  a studied  expres- 
sion of  the  balanced  division  of  her  care  between  the  two  great 
objects  of  utility  and  splendour  ; in  her  right  hand,  food  and  flax, 


16 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


for  life  and  clothing  ; in  her  left  hand,  the  purple  and  the  needle- 
work, for  honour  and  for  beauty.  All  perfect  housewifery  or 
national  economy  is  known  by  these  two  divisions;  wherever 
either  is  wanting,  the  economy  is  imperfect.  If  the  motive  of  pomp 
prevails,  and  the  care  of  the  national  economist  is  directed  only  to 
the  accumulation  of  gold,  and  of  pictures,  and  of  silk  and  marble, 
you  know  at  once  that  the  time  must  soon  come  when  all  these 
treasures  shall  be  scattered  and  blasted  in  national  ruin.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  the  element  of  utility  prevails,  and  the  nation  dis- 
dains to  occupy  itself  in  any  wise  with  the  arts  of  beauty  or 
delight,  not  only  a certain  quantity  of  its  energy  calculated  for 
exercise  in  those  arts  alone  must  be  entirely  wasted,  which  is  bad 
economy,  but  also  the  passions  connected  with  the  utilities  of  pro- 
perty become  morbidly  strong,  and  a mean  lust  of  accumulation, 
merely  for  the  sake  of  accumulation,  or  even  of  labour,  merely  for 
the  sake  of  labour,  will  banish  at  least  the  serenity  and  the  morality 
of  life,  as  completely,  and  perhaps  more  ignobly,  than  even  the  lavish- 
ness of  pride,  and  the  lightness  of  pleasure.  And  similarly,  and 
much  more  visibly,  in  private  and  household  economy,  you  may 
judge  always  of  its  perfectness  by  its  fair  balance  between  the  use 
and  the  pleasure  of  its  possessions.  You  will  see  the  wise  cottager’s 
garden  trimly  divided  between  its  well-set  vegetables,  and  its  fragrant 
flowers ; you  will  see  the  good  housewife  taking  pride  in  her  pretty 
table-cloth,  and  her  glittering  shelves,  no  less  than  in  her  well- 
dressed  dish,  and  her  full  storeroom ; the  care  in  her  countenance 
will  alternate  with  gaiety ; and  though  you  will  reverence  her  in 
her  seriousness,  you  will  know  her  best  by  her  smile. 

Now,  as  you  will  have  anticipated,  I am  going  to  address  you, 
on  this  and  our  succeeding  evening,  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  that 
economy  which  relates  rather  to  the  garden  than  the  farm-yard. 
I shall  ask  you  to  consider  with  me  the  kind  of  laws  by  which  we 
shall  best  distribute  the  beds  of  our  national  garden,  and  raise  in  it 
the  sweetest  succession  of  trees  pleasant  to  the  sight,  and  (in  no 


LECT.  I.] 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


17 


forbidden  sense)  to  be  desired  to  make  us  wise.  But,  before  pro- 
ceeding to  open  this  specialty  of  our  subject,  let  me  pause  for  a few 
moments  to  plead  with  you  for  the  acceptance  of  that  principle  of 
government  or -authority  which  must  be  at  the  root  of  all  economy, 
whether  for  use  or  for  pleasure.  I said,  a few  minutes  ago,  that  a 
nation’s  labour,  well  applied,  was  amply  sufficient  to  provide  its 
whole  population  with  good  food,  comfortable  clothing,  and  pleasant 
luxury.  But  the  good,  instant,  and  constant  application  is  every- 
thing. We  must  not,  when  our  strong  hands  are  thrown  out  of 
work,  look  wildly  about  for  want  of  something  to  do  with  them. 
If  ever  we  feel  that  want,  it  is  a sign  that  all  our  household  is  out 
of  order.  Fancy  a farmer’s  wife,  to  whom  one  or  two  of  her  ser- 
vants should  come  at  twelve  o’clock  at  noon,  crying  that  they  had 
got  nothing  to  do ; that  they  did  not  know  what  to  do  next : and 
fancy  still  farther,  the  said  farmer’s  wife  looking  hopelessly  about 
her  rooms  and  yard,  they  being  all  the  while  considerably  in  dis- 
order, not  knowing  where  to  set  the  spare  hand-maidens  to  work, 
and  at  last  complaining  bitterly  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  give 
them  their  dinner  for  nothing.  That’s  the  type  of  the  kind  of 
political  economy  we  practise  too  often  in  England.  Would  you 
not  at  once  assert  of  such  a mistress  that  she  knew  nothing  of  her 
duties  ? and  would  you  not  be  certain,  if  the  household  were 
rightly  managed,  the  mistress  would  be  only  too  glad  at  any  mo- 
ment to  have  the  help  of  any  number  of  spare  hands ; that  she 
would  know  in  an  instant  what  to  set  them  to ; — in  an  instant  what 
part  of  to-morrow’s  work  might  be  most  serviceably  forwarded, 
what  part  of  next  month’s  work  most  wisely  provided  for,  or  what 
new  task  of  some  profitable  kind  undertaken  ? and  when  the  eve- 
ning came,  and  she  dismissed  her  servants  to  their  recreation  or 
their  rest,  or  gathered  them  to  the  reading  round  the  work-table, 
under  the  eaves  in  the  sunset,  would  you  not  be  sure  to  find  that 
none  of  them  had  been  overtasked  by  her,  just  because  none  had 
been  left  idle ; that  everything  had  been  accomplished  because  all 


]8  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  I. 

had  been  employed ; that  the  kindness  of  the  mistress  had  aided 
licr  presence  of  mind,  and  the  slight  labour  had  been  entrusted  to 
the  weak,  and  the  formidable  to  the  strong ; and  that  as  none  had 
been  dishonoured  by  inactivity,  so  none  had  been  broken  by  toil  ? 

Now,  the  precise  counterpart  of  such  a household  would  be 
seen  in  a nation  in  which  political  economy  was  rightly  under- 
stood. You  complain  of  the  difficulty  of  finding  work  for  your 
men.  Depend  upon  it  the  real  difficulty  rather  is  to  find  men  for 
your  work.  The  serious  question  for  you  is  not  how  many  you 
have  to  feed,  but  how  much  you  have  to  do  ; it  is  our  inactivity, 
not  our  hunger,  that  ruins  us  : let  us  never  fear  that  our  servants 
should  have  a good  appetite — our  wealth  is  in  their  strength,  not 
in  their  starvation.  Look  around  this  island  of  yours,  and  see 
what  you  have  to  do  in  it.  The  sea  roars  against  your  harbour- 
less  cliffs — you  have  to  build  the  breakwater,  and  dig  the  port  of 
refuge ; the  unclean  pestilence  ravins  in  your  streets — you  have  to 
bring  the  full  stream  from  the  hills,  and  to  send  the  free  winds 
through  the  thoroughfare  ; the  famine  blanches  your  lips  and  eats 
away  your  flesh — you  have  to  dig  the  moor  and  dry  the  marsh,  to 
bid  the  morass  give  forth  instead  of  engulphing,  and  to  wring  the 
lioney  and  oil  out  of  the  rock.  These  things,  and  thousands  such, 
we  have  to  do,  and  shall  have  to  do  constantly,  on  this  great  farm 
of  ours ; for  do  not  suppose  that  it  is  anything  else  than  that.  - 
ITecisely  the  same  laws  of  economy  wliich  apply  to  the  cultiva- 
tion of  a farm  or  an  estate  apply  to  the  cultivation  of  a province 
or  of  an  island.  AVhatcver  rebuke  you  would  address  to  the  im- 
pi-ovidcnt  master  of  an  ill-managed  patrimony,  precisely  that  re- 
buke we  should  address  to  ourselves,  so  far  as  we  leave  our  popu- 
lation in  idleness  and  our  country  in  disorder.  What  would  you 
say  to  the  lord  of  an  estate  who  complained  to  you  of  his  poverty 
and  disabilities,  and,  when  you  pointed  out  to  him  that  his  land 
was  half  of  it  overrun  with  weeds,  and  that  his  fences  were  all  in 
ruin,  and  that  his  cattle-sheds  were  roofless,  and  his  labourers  ly- 


j'*;cT.  I.] 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


19 


ing  under  the  hedges  faint  for  want  of  food,  he  answered  to  you 
that  it  would  ruin  him  to  weed  his  land  or  to  roof  his  sheds — 
that  those  were  too  costly  operations  for  him  to  undertake,  and 
that  he  knew  not  how  to  feed  his  labourers  nor  pay  them?  Would 
you  not  instantly  answer,  that  instead  of  ruining  him  to  weed  his 
fields,  it  would  save  him  ; that  his  inactivity  was  his  destruction, 
and  that  to  set  his  labourers  to  work  was  to  feed  them  ? Now, 
you  may  add  acre  to  acre,  and  estate  to  estate,  as  far  as  you  like, 
but  you  will  never  reach  a compass  of  ground  which  shall  escape 
from  the  authority  of  these  simple  laws.  The  principles  which 
are  right  in  the  administration  of  a few  fields,  are  right  also  in  the 
administration  of  a great  country  from  horizon  to  horizon : idle- 
ness does  not  cease  to  be  ruinous  because  it  is  extensive,  nor  labour 
to  be  productive  because  it  is  universal. 

Nay,  but  you  reply,  there  is  one  vast  difference  between  the 
nation’s  economy  and  the  private  man’s  : the  farmer  has  full  au- 
thority over  his  labourers ; he  can  direct  them  to  do  what  is 
needed  to  be  done,  whether  they  like  it  or  not ; and  he  can  turn 
them  away  if  they  refuse  to  work,  or  impede  others  in  their 
working,  or  are  disobedient,  or  quarrelsome.  There  is  this  great 
difference ; it  is  precisely  this  difference  on  which  I wish  to  fix 
your  attention,  for  it  is  precisely  this  difference  which  you  have  to 
do  away  with.  We  know  the  necessity  of  authority  in  farm,  or 
in  fleet,  or  in  army  ; but  we  commonly  refuse  to  admit  it  in  Ihe 
body  of  the  nation.  Let  us  consider  this  point  a little. 

In  the  various  awkward  and  unfortunate  efforts  which  the 
French  have  made  at  the  development  of  a social  system,  they 
liave  at  least  stated  one  true  principle,  that  of  fraternity  or  brother- 
hood. Do  not  be  alarmed ; they  got  all  wrong  in  their  experi- 
ments, because  they  quite  forgot  that  this  fact  of  fraternity  implied 
another  fact  quite  as  important — that  of  paternity,  or  fatherhood. 
That  is  to  say,  if  they  were  to  regard  the  nation  as  one  family, 
the  condition  of  unity  in  that  family  consisted  no  less  in  their  hav- 


20  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [LECT.  I. 

ing  a Lead,  or  a father,  than  in  their  being  faithful  and  affection- 
ate members,  or  brothers.  But  we  must  not  forget  this,  for  we 
have  long  confessed  it  with  our  lips,  though  we  refuse  to  confess 
it  in  our  lives.  For  half  an  hour  every  Sunday  we  expect  a 
man  in  a black  gown,  supposed  to  be  telling  us  truth,  to  address 
us  as  brethren,  though  we  should  be  shocked  at  the  notion  of  any 
brotherhood  existing  among  us  out  of  church.  And  we  can 
hardly  read  a few  sentences  on  any  political  subject  without  run- 
ning a chance  of  crossing  the  phrase  “ paternal  government,” 
though  we  should  be  utterly  horror-struck  at  the  idea  of  govern- 
ments claiming  anything  like  a father’s  authority  over  us.  Now, 
I believe  those  two  formal  phrases  are  in  both  instances  perfectly 
binding  and  accurate,  and  that  the  image  of  the  farm  and  its  ser- 
vants which  I have  hitherto  used,  as  expressing  a wholesome 
national  organization,  fails  only  of  doing  so,  not  because  it  is  too 
domestic,  but  because  it  is  not  domestic  enough  ; because  the  real 
type  of  a well-organized  nation  must  be  presented,  not  by  a farm 
cultivated  by  servants  who  wrought  for  hire,  and  might  be  turned 
away  if  they  refused  to  labour,  but  by  a farm  in  which  the  master 
was  a father,  and  in  which  all  the  servants  were  sons ; which  im- 
plied, therefore,  in  all  its  regulations,  not  merely  the  order  of  expe- 
diency, but  the  bonds  of  affection  and  responsibilities  of  relation- 
ship ; and  in  which  all  acts  and  services  were  not  only  to  be  sweet- 
ened by  brotherly  concord,  but  to  be  enefored  by  fatherly  authority.^ 
Observe,  I do  not  mean  in  the  least  that  we  ought  to  place  such 
an  authority  in  the  hands  of  any  one  person,  or  of  any  class,  or 
body  of  persons.  But  I do  mean  to  say  that  as  an  individual  who 
conducts  himself  wisely  must  make  laws  for  himself  which  at 
some  time  or  other  may  appear  irksome  or  injurious,  but  which, 
precisely  at  the  time  they  appear  most  irksome,  it  is  most  neces- 
sary he  should  obey,  so  a nation  which  means  to  conduct  itself 


See  note  1st,  in  Addenda, 


LECT.  I.]  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  21 

wisely,  must  establish  authority  over  itself,  vested  either  in  kings, 
councils,  or  laws,  which  it  must  resolve  to  obey,  even  at  times 
when  the  law  or  authority  appears  irksome  to  the  body  of  the 
people,  or  injurious  to  certain  masses  of  it.  And  this  kind  of 
national  law  has  hitherto  been  only  judicial ; contented,  that  is, 
with  an  endeavour  to  prevent  and  punish  violence  and  crime ; but, 
as  we  advance  in  our  social  knowledge,  we  shall  endeavour  to 
make  our  government  paternal  as  well  as  judicial ; that  is,  to 
establish  such  laws  and  authorities  as  may  at  once  direct  us  in  our 
occupations,  protect  us  against  our  follies,  and  visit  us  in  our  dis- 
tresses : a government  which  shall  repress  dishonesty,  as  now  it 
punishes  theft ; which  shall  show  how  the  discipline  of  the  masses 
may  be  brought  to  aid  the  toils  of  peace,  as  discipline  of  the  masses 
has  hitherto  knit  the  sinews  of  battle  ; a government  which  shall 
have  its  soldiers  of  the  ploughshare  as  well  as  its  soldiers  of  the 
sword,  and  which  shall  distribute  more  proudly  its  golden  crosses 
of  industry — golden  as  the  glow  of  the  harvest,  than  now  it  grants 
its  bronze  crosses  of  honour — bronzed  with  the  crimson  of  blood. 

I have  not,  of  course,  time  to  insist  on  the  nature  or  details  of 
government  of  this  kind ; only  I wish  to  plead  for  your  several 
and  future  consideration  of  this  one  truth,  that  the  notion  of 
Discipline  and  Interference  lies  at  the  very  root  of  all  human  pro- 
gress or  power ; that  the  “ Let  alone”  principle  is,  in  all  things 
which  man  has  to  do  with,  the  principle  of  death  ; that  it  is  ruin 
to  him,  certain  and  total,  if  he  lets  his  land  alone — if  he  lets  his 
fellow-men  alone — if  he  lets  his  own  soul  alone.  That  his  whole 
life,  on  the  contrary,  must,  if  it  is  healthy  life,  be  continually  one 
of  ploughing  and  pruning,  rebuking  and  helping,  governing  and 
punishing ; and  that  therefore  it  is  only  in  the  concession  of  some 
great  principle  of  restraint  and  interference  in  national  action  that 
he  can  ever  hope  to  find  the  secret  of  protection  against  national 
degradation.  I believe  that  the  masses  have  a right  to  claim  edu- 
cation from  their  government ; but  only  so  far  as  they  acknow- 


22 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


ledge  the  duty  of  yielding  obedience  to  their  government.  I 
believe  they  have  a right  to  claim  employment  from  their  govern- 
ors ; but  only  so  far  as  they  yield  to  the  governor  the  direction 
and  discipline  of  their  labour ; and  it  is  only  so  far  as  they  grant 
to  the  men  whom  they  may  set  over  them  the  father’s  authority 
to  check  the  childishness  of  national  fancy,  and  direct  the  way- 
wardness of  national  energy,  that  they  have  a right  to  ask  that 
none  of  their  distresses  should  be  unrelieved,  none  of  their  weak- 
nesses unwatched;  and  that  no  grief,  nor  nakedness,  nor  peril 
should  exist  for  them,  against  which  the  father’s  hand  was  not 
outstretched,  or  the  father’s  shield  uplifted.^ 

Now,  I have  pressed  this  upon  you  at  more  length  than  is  need- 
ful or  proportioned  to  our  present  purposes  of  inquiry,  because  I 
would  not  for  the  first  time  speak  to  you  on  this  subject  of  politi- 
cal economy  without  clearly  stating  what  I believe  to  be  its 
first  grand  principle.  But  its  bearing  on  the  matter  in  hand  is 
chiefly  to  prevent  you  from  at  once  too  violently  dissenting 
from  me  when  what  ,I  may  state  to  you  as  advisable  economy 
in  art  appears  to  imply  too  much  restraint  or  interference  with  the 
freedom  of  the  patron  or  artist.  We  are  a little  apt,  though  on 

' Compare  Wordsworth’s  Essay  on  the  Poor-Law  Amendment  Bill.  I 
quote  one  important  passage : — But,  if  it  be  not  safe  to  touch  the  abstract 
question  of  man’s  right  in  a social  state  to  help  himself  even  in  the  last  ex- 
tremity, may  wo  not  still  contend  for  the  duty  of  a Christian  government, 
standing  in  loco  parentis  towards  all  its  subjects,  to  make  such  effectual  provi- 
sion that  no  one  shall  bo  in  danger  of  perishing  either  through  the  neglect  or 
harslincss  of  its  legislation  ? Or,  waiving  this,  is  it  not  indisputable  that  the 
claim  of  the  State  to  the  allegiance,  involves  the  protection  of  the  subject? 
And,  as  all  rights  in  one  party  impose  a correlative  duty  upon  another,  it  fol- 
lows that  tlio  right  of  the  State  to  require  the  services  of  its  members,  even 
to  the  jeoparding  of  their  lives  in  the  common  defence,  establishes  a right  in 
the  people  (not  to  bo  gainsaid  by  utilitarians  and  economists)  to  public  sup- 
port when,  from  any  cause,  they  may  bo  unable  to  support  themselves.” — 
(See  note  2nd,  in  Addenda.) 


LECT.  I.]  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OP  ART.  23 

the  whole  a prudent  nation,  to  act  too  immediately  on  our 
impulses,  even  in  matters  merely  commercial;  much  more  in 
those  involving  continual  appeals  to  our  fancies.  How  far,  there- 
fore, the  proposed  systems  or  restraints  may  be  advisable,  it  is  for 
you  to  judge ; only  I pray  you  not  to  be  offended  with  them 
merely  because  they  are  systems  and  restraints.  Do  you  at  all 
recollect  that  interesting  passage  of  Carlyle,  in  which  he  com- 
pares, in  this  country  and  at  this  day,  the  understood  and 
commercial  value  of  man  and  horse ; and  in  which  he  wonders 
that  the  horse,  with  its  inferior  brains  and  its  awkward  hoofiness, 
instead  of  handiness,  should  be  always  worth  so  many  tens  or 
scores  of  pounds  in  the  market,  while  the  man,  so  far  from  always 
commanding  his  price  in  the  market,  would  often  be  thought  to 
confer  a service  on  the  community  by  simply  killing  himself  out 
of  their  way?  Well,  Carlyle  does  not  answer  his  own  question, 
because  he  supposes  we  shall  at  once  see  the  answer.  The  value 
of  the  horse  consists  simply  in  the  fact  of  your  being  able  to  put 
a bridle  on  him.  The  value  of  the  man  consists  precisely  in  the 
same  thing.  If  you  can  bridle  him,  or  which  is  better,  if  he  can 
bridle  himself  he  will  be  a valuable  creature  directly.  Otherwise, 
in  a commercial  point  of  view,  his  value  is  either  nothing,  or  acci- 
dental only.  Only,  of  course,  the  proper  bridle  of  man  is  not  a 
leathern  one ; what  kind  of  texture  it  is  rightly  made  of,  we  find 
from  that  command,  “Be  ye  not  as  the  horse  or  as  the  mule 
which  have  no  understanding,  whose  mouths  must  be  held  in 
with  bit  and  bridle.”  You  are  not  to  be  without  the  reins, 
indeed ; but  they  are  to  be  of  another  kind ; “ I will  guide  thee 
with  mine  Eye.”  So  the  bridle  of  man  is  to  be  the  Eye  of  God  ; 
aud  if  he  rejects  that  guidance,  then  the  next  best  for  him  is  the 
horse’s  and  the  mule’s,  which  have  no  understanding;  and  if 
he  rejects  that,  and  takes  the  bit  fairly  in  his  teeth,  then  there 
is  nothing  more  left  for  him  than  the  blood  that  comes  out  of  the 
city,  up  to  the  horsebridles. 


24 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


Quitting,  however,  at  last  these  general  and  serious  laws  of 
government — or  rather  bringing  them  down  to  our  own  business 
in  hand — we  have  to  consider  three  points  of  discipline  in  that 
particular  branch  of  human  labour  which  is  concerned,  not  w^ith 
procuring  of  food,  but  the  expression  of  emotion;  we  have  to 
consider  respecting  art;  first,  how  to  apply  our  labour  to  it;  then, 
how  to  accumulate  or  preserve  the  results  of  labour ; and  then, 
how  to  distribute  them.  But  since  in  art  the  labour  which  we 
have  to  employ  is  the  labour  of  a particular  class  of  men — men 
who  have  special  genius  for  the  business,  we  have  not  only 
to  consider  how  to  apply  the  labour,  but  first  of  all  how  to 
produce  the  labourer ; and  thus  the  question  in  this  particu- 
lar case  becomes  fourfold : first,  how  to  get  your  man  of 
genius ; then,  how  to  employ  your  man  of  genius ; then,  how 
to  accumulate  and  preserve  his  work  in  the  greatest  quantity; 
and  lastly,  how  to  distribute  his  work  to  the  best  national  advan- 
tage. Let  us  take  up  these  questions  in  succession. 

I.  Discovery. — How  are  we  to  get  our  men  of  genius : that  is 
to  say,  by  what  means  may  we  produce  among  us,  at  any  given 
time,  the  greatest  quantity  of  effective  art-intellect?  A wide  ques- 
tion, you  say,  involving  an  account  of  all  the  best  means  of  art 
education.  Yes,  but  I do  not  mean  to  go  into  the  consideration  of 
those ; I want  only  to  state  the  few  principles  which  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  the  matter.  Of  these,  the  first  is  that  you  have 
always  to  find  your  artist,  not  to  make  him ; you  can’t  manufacture 
him,  any  more  than  you  can  manufacture  gold.  You  can  find 
liim,  and  refine  him  : you  dig  him  out  as  he  lies  nugget-fashion  in 
the  mountain-stream  ; you  bring  him  home ; and  you  make  him 
into  current  coin,  or  household  plate,  but  not  one  grain  of  him  can 
you  originally  produce.  A certain  quantity  of  art-intellect  is  born 
annually  in  every  nation,  greater  or  less  according  to  the  nature 
and  cultivation  of  the  nation,  or  race  of  men ; but  a perfectly  fixed 


LECT.  I.] 


I.  DISCOVERY. 


25 


quantity  amiualh^,  not  increasable  by  one  grain.  You  may  lose 
it,  or  you  may  gatlier  it;  you  may  let  it  lie  loose  in  the  ravine, 
and  buried  in  the  sands,  or  you  may  make  kings’  thrones  of  it,  and 
overlay  temple  gates  with  it,  as  you  choose  ; but  the  best  you  cp.n 
do  with  it  is  always  merely  sifting,  melting,  hammering,  purifying 
— never  creating.  And  there  is  another  thing  notable  about  this 
artistical  gold  ; not  only  is  it  limited  in  quantity,  but  in  use.  You 
need  not  make  thrones  or  golden  gates  with  it  unless  you  like,  but 
assuredly  you  can’t  do  anything  else  with  it.  You  can’t  make 
knives  of  it,  nor  armour,  nor  railroads.  The  gold  won’t  cnt  you, 
and  it  won’t  carry  you  : put  it  to  a mechanical  use,  and  you  destroy 
it  at  once.  It  is  quite  true  that  in  the  greatest  artists,  their  proper 
artistical  faculty  is  united  with  every  other ; and  you  may  make 
use  of  the  other  faculties,  and  let  the  artistical  one  lie  dormant. 
For  aught  I know  there  may  be  two  or  three  Leonardo  da  Vincis 
employed  at  this  moment  in  your  harbours  and  railroads : but  you 
are  not  employing  their  Leonardesque  or  golden  faculty  there,  you 
are  only  oppressing  and  destroying  it.  And  the  artistical  gift  in 
average  men  is  not  joined  with  others ; your  born  painter,  if  you 
don’t  make  a painter  of  him,  won’t  be  a first-rate  merchant,  or 
lawyer ; at  all  events,  whatever  he  turns  out.  his  own  special  gift 
is  unemployed  by  you  ; and  in  no  wise  helps  him  in  that  other 
business.  So  here  you  have  a certain  quantity  of  a particular  sort 
of  intelligence,  produced  for  you  annually  by  providential  laws, 
which  you  can  only  make  use  of  by  setting  it  to  its  own  proper 
work,  and  which  any  attempt  to  use  otherwise  involves  the 
dead  loss  of  so  much  human  energy.  Well  then,  supposing  we 
wish  to  employ  it,  how  is  it  to  be  best  discovered  and  re- 
fined. It  is  easily  enough  discovered.  To  wish  to  employ 

it  is  to  discover  it.  All  that  you  need  is,  a school  of  trial*  in 
every  important  town,  in  which  those  idle  farmers’  lads  whom 
their  masters  never  can  keep  out  of  mischief,  and  those  stupid 


Sec  note  Ocl,  in  Addenda. 
2 


26  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  I. 

tailors’  ’prentices  who  are  always  stitching  the  sleeves  in  wrong 
way  upwards,  may  have  a try  at  this  other  trade ; only  this  school 
of  trial  must  not  he  entirely  regulated  by  formal  laws  of  art 
education,  but  must  ultimately  be  the  workshop  of  a good  master 
painter,  who  will  try  the  lads  with  one  kind  of  art  and  another, 
till  he  finds  out  what  they  are  fit  for.  Next,  after  your  trial 
school,  you  want  your  easy  and  secure  employment,  which  is  the 
matter  of  chief  importance.  For,  even  on  the  present  system,  the 
boys  who  have  really  intense  art  capacity,  generally  make  painters 
of  themselves ; but  then,  the  best  half  of  their  early  energy  is 
lost  in  the  battle  of  life.  Before  a good  painter  can  get  employ- 
ment, his  mind  has  always  been  embittered,  and  his  genius  dis- 
torted. A common  mind  usually  stoops,  in  plastic  chill,  to  what- 
ever is  asked  of  it,  and  scrapes  or  daubs  its  way  complacently  into 
public  favour.’  But  your  great  men  quarrel  with  you,  and  you 
revenge  yourselves  by  starving  them  for  the  first  half  of  theii 
lives.  Precisely  in  the  degree  in  which  any  painter  possesses 
original  genius,  is  at  present  the  increase  of  moral  certainty  that 
during  his  early  years  he  will  have  a hard  battle  to  fight ; and 
that  just  at  the  time  when  his  conceptions  ought  to  be  full  and 
happy,  his  temper  gentle,  and  his  hopes  enthusiastic — just  at  that 
most  critical  period,  his  heart  is  full  of  anxieties  and  household 
cares ; he  is  chilled  by  disappointments,  and  vexed  by  injustice; 
he  becomes  obstinate  in  his  errors,  no  less  than  in  his  virtues, 
and  the  arrows  of  his  aims  arc  blunted,  as  the  reeds  of  his  trust 
are  broken. 

Wluit  we  mainly  want,  therefore,  is  a means  of  sufficient  and 
unagitated  employment : not  holding  out  great  prizes  for  which 
young  painters  are  to  scramble ; but  furnishing  all  with  adequate 
support,  and  opportunity  to  display  such  power  as  they  possess 
without  rejection  or  mortification.  I need  not  say  that  the  best 


See  note  4th,  in  Addenda. 


LECT.  I.] 


I.  DISCOVERY. 


2Y 


field  of  labour  of  tbis  kind  would  be  presented  by  the  constant 
progress  of  public  works  involving  various  decorations ; and  we 
will  presently  examine  what  kind  of  public  works  may  thus,  ad- 
vantageously for  the  nation,  be  in  constant  progress.  But  a more 
important  matter  even  than  this  of  steady  employment,  is  the 
kind  of  criticism  with  which  you,  the  public,  receive  the  works  of 
the  young  men  submitted  to  you.  You  may  do  much  harm  by 
indiscreet  praise  and  by  indiscreet  blame ; but  remember,  the 
chief  harm  is  always  done  by  blame.  It  stands  to  reason  that  a 
young  man’s  work  cannot  be  perfect.  It  must  be  more  or  less 
ignorant ; it  must  be  more  or  less  feeble ; it  is  likely  that  it  may 
be  more  or  less  experimental,  and  if  experimental,  here  and  there 
mistaken.  If,  therefore,  you  allow  yourself  to  launch  out  into 
sudden  barking  at  the  first  faults  you  see,  the  probability  is  that 
you  are  abusing  the  youth  for  some  defect  naturally  and  inevitably 
belonging  to  that  stage  of  his  progress ; and  that  you  might  just 
as  rationally  find  fault  with  a child  for  not  being  as  prudent  as  a 
privy  councillor,  or  with  a kitten  for  not  being  as  grave  as  a cat. 
But  there  is  one  fault  which  you  may  be  quite  sure  is  unnecessary, 
and  therefore  a real  and  blameable  fault : that  is  haste,  involving 
negligence.  Whenever  you  see  that  a young  man’s  work  is  either 
bold  or  slovenly,  then  you  may  attack  it  firmly ; sure  of  being 
right.  If  his  work  is  bold,  it  is  insolent ; repress  his  insolence  : 
if  it  is  slovenly,  it  is  indolent ; repress  his  indolence.  So  long  as 
he  works  in  that  dashing  or  impetuous  way,  the  best  hope  for  him 
is  in  your  contempt : and  it  is  only  by  the  fact  of  his  seeming  not 
to  seek  your  approbation  that  you  may  conjecture  he  deserves  it. 

But  if  he  does  deserve  it,  be  sure  that  you  give  it  him,  else  you 
not  only  run  a chance  of  driving  him  from  the  right  road  by  want 
of  encouragement,  but  you  deprive  yourselves  of  the  happiest  pri- 
vilege you  will  ever  have  of  rewarding  his  labour.  For  it  is  only 
the  young  who  can  receive  much  reward  from  men’s  praise  : the 
old^  when  they  are  great,  get  too  far  beyond  and  above  you  to 


28 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


care  what  you  think  of  them.  You  may  urge  them  then  with 
pympatliy,  and  surround  them  then  with  acclamation ; hut  they 
will  doubt  your  pleasure,  and  despise  your  praise.  You  might 
have  cheered  them  in  their  race  through  the  asphodel  meadows 
of  their  youth  ; you  might  have  brought  the  proud,  bright  scarlet 
into  their  faces,  if  you  had  but  cried  once  to  them  “Well  done,” 
as  they  dashed  up  to  the  first  goal  of  their  early  ambition.  But 
now,  their  pleasure  is  in  memory,  and  their  ambition  is  in  heaven. 
They  can  be  kind  to  you,  but  you  never  more  can  be  kind  to 
tlicm.  You  may  be  fed  with  the  fruit  and  fulness  of  their  old 
age,  but  you  were  as  the  nipping  blight  to  them  in  their  blossom- 
ing, and  your  praise  is  only  as  the  warm  winds  of  autumn  to  the 
dying  branches. 

There  is  one  thought  still,  the  saddest  of  all,  bearing  on  this 
withholding  of  early  help.  It  is  possible,  in  some  noble  natures, 
that  the  warmth  and  the  affections  of  childhood  may  remain  un- 
chillcd,  though  unanswered;  and  that  the  old  man’s  heart  may 
still  be  capable  of  gladness,  when  the  long-withheld  sympathy  is 
given  at  last.  But  in  these  noble  natures  it  nearly  always  hap- 
pens, that  the  chief  motive  of  earthly  ambition  has  not  been  to 
give  delight  to  themselves,  but  to  their  parents.  Every  noble 
yf)nth  looks  back,  as  to  the  chiefest  joy  which  this  world’s  honour 
ever  gave  him,  to  the  moment  when  first  he  saw  his  father’s  eyes 
flash  with  pride,  and  his  mother  turn  away  her  head,  lest  ho 
should  take  her  tears  for  tears  of  sorrow.  Even  the  lover’s  joy, 
whcui  sonic  worthiness  of  his  is  acknowledged  before  his  mistress, 
is  not  so  great  as  that,  for  it  is  not  so  pure — the  desire  to  exalt 
himself  in  her  eyes  mixes  with  that  of  giving  her  delight ; but  he 
does  not  need  to  exalt  himself  in  his  parents’  eyes  : it  is  with  the 
pure  hope  of  giving  them  pleasure  that  he  comes  to  tell  them 
what  he  has  done,  or  what  has  been  said  of  him  ; and  therefore 
lie  has  a purer  pleasure  of  his  own.  And  this  purest  and  best  of 
rewards  you  keep  from  liim  if  you  can:  you  feed  him  in  his 


LECT.  I.] 


I.  DISCOVERY. 


29 


tender  youth  with  ashes  and  dishonour ; and  then  you  come  to 
him,  obsequious,  but  too  late,  with  your  sh'arp  laurel  crown,  the 
dew  all  dried  from  off  its  leaves ; and  you  thrust  it  into  his  languid 
hand,  and  he  looks  at  you  wistfully.  What  shall  he  do  with  it  ? 
What  can  he  do,  but  go  and  lay  it  on  his  mother’s  grave  ? 

Thus,  then,  you  see  that  you  have  to  provide  for  your  young 
men  : first,  the  searching  or  discovering  school ; then  the  calm 
employment ; then  the  justice  of  praise  : one  thing  more  you  have 
to  do  for  them  in  preparing  them  for  full  service — namely,  to 
make,  in  the  noble  sense  of  the  word,  gentlemen  of  them ; that  is 
to  say,  to  take  care  that  their  minds  receive  such  training,  that  in 
all  they  paint  they  shall  see  and  feel  the  noblest  things.  I am 
sorry  to  say,  that  of  all  parts  of  an  artist’s  education  this  is  the 
most  neglected  among  us  ; and  that  even  where  the  natural  taste 
and  feeling  of  the  youth  have  been  pure  and  true,  where  there 
Avas  the  right  stuff  in  him  to  make  a gentleman  of,  you  may  too 
frequently  discern  some  jarring  rents  in  his  mind,  and  elements  of 
degradation  in  his  treatment  of  s*ubject,  owing  to  want  of  gentle 
training,  and  of  the  liberal  influence  of  literature.  This  is  quite 
visible  in  our  greatest  artists,  even  in  men  like  Turner  and  Gains- 
borough ; w'hile  in  the  common  grade  of  our  second-rate  painters 
the  evil  attains  a pitch  which  is  far  too  sadly  manifest  to  need  my 
dwelling  upon  it.  Now,  no  branch  of  art  economy  is  more  im- 
portant than  that  of  making  the  intellect  at  your  disposal  pure  as 
Avell  as  powerful ; so  that  it  may  always  gather  for  you  the  sweet- 
est and  fairest  things.  The  same  quantity  of  labour  from  the  same 
man’s  hand,  will,  according  as  you  have  trained  him,  produce  a 
lovely  and  useful  work,  or  a base  and  hurtful  one ; and  depend 
upon  it,  whatever  value  it  may  possess,  by  reason  of  the  painter’s 
skill,  its  chief  and  final  value,  to  any  nation,  depends  upon  its 
being  able  to  exalt  and  refine,  as  well  as  to  please ; and  that  the 
picture  which  most  truly  deserves  the  name  of  an  art-treasure,  is 
that  which  has  been  painted  by  a good  man. 


30 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


LECT.  I. 


You  cannot  but  see  bow  far  this  would  lead,  if  I were  to 
enlarge  upon  it.  I must  take  it  up  as  a separate  subject  some 
otlier  time : only  noticing  at  present  that  no  money  could  be 
better  spent  by  a nation  than  in  providing  a liberal  and  disci- 
plined education  for  its  painters,  as  they  advance  into  tlie  critical 
period  of  tbeir  youth  ; and  that  also,  a large  part  of  their  power 
during  life  depends  upon  the  kind  of  subjects  which  you,  the  pub- 
lic, ask  them  for,  and  therefore  the  kind  of  thoughts  with  which 
you  require  them  to  be  habitually  familiar.  I shall  have  more  to 
say  on  this  head  when  we  come  to  consider  what  employment 
they  should  have  in  public  buildings. 

There  are  many  other  points  of  nearly  as  much  importance  as 
these,  to  be  explained  with  reference  to  the  development  of 
genius  ; but  I should  have  to  ask  you  to  come  and  hear  six  lec- 
tures instead  of  two  if  I were  to  go  into  their  detail.  For  in- 
stance, I Lave  not  spoken  of  the  way  in  which  you  ought  to  look 
for  those  artificers  in  various  manual  trades,  who,  without  possess- 
ing the  order  of  genius  which  you  would  desire  to  devote  to 
liigber  purposes,  yet  possess  wit,  and  humour,  and  sense  of  colour, 
and  fancy  for  form — all  commercially  valuable  as  quantities  of 
intellect,  and  all  more  or  less  expressible  in  the  lower  arts  of  iron- 
work, pottery,  decorative  sculpture,  and  such  like.  But  these 
details,  interesting  as  they  are,  I must  commend  to  your  own  con- 
sideration, or  leave  for  some  future  inquiry.  I want  just  now 
only  to  set  the  bearings  of  the  entire  subject  broadly  before  you, 
with  enough  of  detailed  illustration  to  make  it  intelligible  ; and 
therefore  1 must  quit  the  first  head  of  it  here,  and  pass  to  the 
second,  namely,  how  best  to  employ  the  genius  we  discover.  A 
cei'tain  quantity  of  able  hands  and  heads  being  placed  at  our  dis- 
posal, w'hat  shall  we  most  advisably  set  them  upon  ? 


TT.  Application. — Tliere  are  three  main  points  the  economist 
lias  to  attend  to  in  this. 


LECT.  I.] 


II.  APPLICATION. 


31 


First,  To  set  liis  men  to  various  work. 

Secondly,  To  easy  work. 

Thirdly,  to  lasting  work, 

I shall  briefly  touch  on  the  first  two,  for  I want  to  arrest  your 
attention  on  the  last 

I say  first,  to  various  work.  Supposing  you  have  two  men  of 
equal  power  as  landscape  painters — and  both  of  them  have  an 
hour  at  your  disposal.  You  would  not  set  them  both  to  paint  the 
same  piece  of  landscape.  You  would,  of  course,  rather  have  two 
subjects  than  a repetition  of  one. 

Well,  supposing  them  sculptors,  will  not  the  same  rule  hold  ? 
You  naturally  conclude  at  once  that  it  will ; but  you  will  have 
hard  work  to  convince  your  modern  arcliitects  of  that.  They 

will  put  twenty  men  to  work,  to  carve  twenty  capitals ; and  all 
shall  be  the  same.  If  I could  show  you  the  architects’  yards  in 
England  just  now,  all  open  at  once,  perhaps  you  might  see  a 
thousand  clever  men,  all  employed  in  carving  the  same  design. 
Of  the  degradation  and  deathfulness  to  the  art-intellect  of  the 
country  involved  in  such  a habit,  I have  more  or  less  been  led  to 
speak  before  now;  but  I have  not  hitherto  marked  its  definite 
tendency  to  increase  the  price  of  worh^  as  such.  When  men  arc 
employed  continually  in  carving  the  same  ornaments,  they  get 
into  a monotonous  and  methodical  habit  of  labour — precisely  cor- 
respondent to  that  in  which  they  would  break  stones,  or  paint 
liouse-walls.  Of  course,  what  they  do  so  constantly,  they  do 
easily ; and  if  you  excite  them  temporarily  by  an  increase  of 
wages  you  may  get  much  work  done  by  them  in  a little  time. 
But,  unless  so  stimulated,  men  condemned  to  a monotonous  exer- 
tion, work — and  always,  by  the  laws  of  human  nature,  must 
work — only  at  a tranquil  rate,  not  producing  by  any  means  a 
maximum  result  in  a given  time.  But  if  you  allow  them  to  vary 
their  designs,  and  thus  interest  their  heads  and  hearts  in  what 
they  are  doing,  you  will  find  them  become  eager,  first,  to  get  their 


32  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  I, 

ideas  expressed,  and  tlien  to  finish  the  expression  of  them  ; and 
the  moral  energy  thus  brought  to  bear  on  the  matter  quickens, 
and  therefore  cheapens,  the  production  in  a most  important 
degree.  Sir  Thomas  Deane,  the  architect  of  the  new  Museum  at 
(dxford,  told  me,  as  I passed  through  Oxford  on  m}^  way  here,  that 
he  found  that,  owing  to  this  cause  alone,  capitals  of  various  design 
could  be  executed  cheaper  than  capitals  of  similar  design  (the 
amount  of  hand  labour  in  each  being  the  same)  by  about  30  per 
cent. 

AVell,  that  is  the  first  way,  then,  in  which  you  will  employ  your 
intellect  well ; and  the  simple  observance  of  this  plain  rule  of  po- 
litical economy  will  effect  a noble  revolution  in  your  architecture, 
such  as  you  cannot  at  present  so  much  as  conceive.  Then  the 
second  way  in  which  we  are  to  guard  against  waste  is  by  setting 
our  men  to  the  easiest,  and  therefore  the  quickest,  work  which 
will  answer  the  purpose.  Marble,  for  instance,  lasts  quite  as  long 
as  granite,  and  is  much  softer  to  work ; therefore,  when  you  get 
hold  of  a good  sculptor,  give  him  marble  to  carve — not  granite. 
That,  you  say,  is  obvious  enough.  Yes;  but  it  is  not  so  obvious 
how  much  of  your  workmen’s  time  you  waste  annually  in  making 
them  cut  glass,  after  it  has  got  hard,  when  you  ought  to  make 
them  mould  it  while  it  is  soft.  It  is  not  so  obvious  how  much 
expense  you  waste  in  cutting  diamonds  and  rubies,  which  are  the 
hardest  tilings  you  can  find,  into  shapes  that  mean  nothing,  when 
the  same  men  might  be  cutting  sandstone  and  freestone  into 
shapes  that  mean  something.  It  is  not  so  obvious  how  much  of 
the  aibists’  time  in  Italy  you  waste,  by  forcing  them  to  make 
wi-etched  little  pictures  for  you  out  of  crumbs  of  stone  glued 
together  at  enormous  cost,  when  the  tenth  of  the  time  would 
make  good  and  noble  pictures  for  you  out  of  water-colour.  I 
couhl  go  on  giving  you  almost  numberless  instances  of  this  great 
commercial  mistake;  but  I should  only  weary  and  confuse  you. 
I therefore  commend  also  this  head  of  our  subject  to  your  own 


LECT.  I.] 


II,  APPLICATION. 


33 


meditation,  and  proceed  to  the  last  I named — the  last  I shall  task 
your  patience  with  to-night.  You  know  we  are  now  considering 
how  to  apply  our  genius ; and  we  were  to  do  it  as  economists,  in 
three  ways : — 

To  various  work ; 

To  easy  work ; 

To  lasting  work. 

This  lasting  of  the  work,  then,  is  our  final  question. 

Many  of  you  may,  perhaps,  remember  that  Michael  Angelo  was 
once  commanded  by  Pietro  di  Medici  to  mould  a statue  out  of 
snow,  and  that  he  obeyed  the  command.*  I am  glad,  and  we 
have  all  reason  to  be  glad,  that  such  a fancy  ever  came  into  the 
mind  of  the  unworthy  prince,  and  for  this  cause : that  Pietro  di 
Medici  then  gave,  at  the  period  of  one  great  epoch  of  consum- 
mate power  in  the  arts,  the  perfect,  accurate,  and  intensest  possible 
type  of  the  greatest  error  which  nations  and  princes  can  commit, 
respecting  the  power  of  genius  entrusted  to  their  guidance.  You 
had  there,  observe,  the  strongest  genius  in  the  most  perfect  obe- 
dience ; capable  of  iron  independence,  yet  wholly  submissive  to  the 
patron’s  will ; at  once  the  most  highly  accomplished  and  the  most 
original,  capable  of  doing  as  much  as  man  could  do,  in  any  direc- 
tion that  man  could  ask.  And  its  governor,  and  guide,  and 
patron  sets  it  to  build  a statue  in  snow — to  put  itself  into  the  ser- 
vice of  annihilation — to  make  a cloud  of  itself,  and  pass  away  from 
the  earth. 

Now  this,  so  precisely  and  completely  done  by  Pietro  di  Medici, 
is  what  w'c  are  all  doing,  exactly  in  the  degree  in  which  we  direct 
the  genius  under  our  patronage  to  work  in  more  or  less  perish- 
able materials.  So  far  as  we  induce  painters  to  work  in  fading 
colours,  or  architects  to  build  with  imperfect  structure,  or  in 
any  other  way  consult  only  immediate  ease  and  cheapness  in  the 

* See  the  noble  passage  on  tliis  tradition  in  “Casa  Guidi  Windows.” 


34 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


production  of  what  we  want,  to  the  exclusion  of  provident  thought 
as  to  its  permanence  and  serviceahleness  in  after  ages ; so  far  we 
are  forcing  our  Michael  Angelos  to  carve  in  snow.  The  first  duty 
of  the  economist  in  art  is,  to  see  that  no  intellect  shall  thus  glitter 
merely  in  the  manner  of  hoar-frost ; but  that  it  shall  be  well  vitri- 
fied, like  a painted  window,  and  shall  be  set  so  between  shafts  of 
stone  and  bands  of  iron,  that  is  shall  bear  the  sunshine  upon  it, 
and  send  the  sunshine  through  it,  from  generation  to  generation. 

I can  conceive,  however,  some  political  economist  to  interrupt 
me  here,  and  say,  “ If  you  make  your  art  wear  too  well,  you  will 
soon  have  too  much  of  it ; you  will  throw  your  artists  quite  out  of 
work.  Better  allow  for  a little  wholesome  evanescence — benefi- 
cent destruction : let  each  age  provide  art  for  itself,  or  we  shall 
soon  have  so  many  good  pictures  that  we  shall  not  know  what  to 
do  with  them.” 

Remember,  my  dear  hearers,  who  are  thus  thinking,  that  politi- 
cal economy,  like  every  other  subject,  cannot  be  dealt  with  effec- 
tively if  we  try  to  solve  two  questions  at  a time  instead  of  one.  It 
is  one  question,  how  to  get  plenty  of  a thing ; and  another, 
whether  plenty  of  it  will  be  good  for  us.  Consider  these  two 
mattei-s  separately;  never  confuse  yourself  by  interweaving  one 
with  the  other.  It  is  one  question,  how  to  treat  your  fields  so  as 
to  get  a good  harvest ; another,  whether  you  wish  to  have  a good 
liarvest,  or  would  rather  like  to  keep  up  the  price  of  corn.  It  is 
one  (piestion,  how  to  graft  your  trees  so  as  to  grow  most  apples ; 
and  quite  another,  whether  having  such  a heap  of  apples  in  the 
storeroom  will  not  make  them  all  rot. 

Now,  therefore,  that  we  are  talking  only  about  grafting  and 
growing,  pray  do  not  vex  yourselves  with  thinking  what  you  are 
to  do  with  the  pippins.  It  may  be  desirable  for  us  to  have  much 
art,  or  little — we  will  examine  that  by  and  by;  but  just  now,  let 
us  keep  to  the  simple  consideration  how  to  get  plenty  of  good  art  if 
we  want  it.  Berhaps  it  might  bo  just  as  well  that  a man  of  mode- 


LECT.  I.] 


II.  APPLICATION. 


35 


rate  income  should  be  able  to  possess  a good  picture,  as  that  any 
work  of  real  merit  should  cost  500/.  or  1000/.;  at  all  events,  it 
is  certainly  one  of  the  branches  of  political  economy  to  ascertain 
how,  if  we  like,  we  can  get  things  in  quantities — plenty  of  corn, 
plenty  of  wine,  plenty  of  gold,  or  plenty  of  pictures. 

It  has  just  been  said,  that  the  first  great  secret  is  to  produce  work 
that  wdll  last.  Now,  the  conditions  of  work  lasting  are  twofold : 
it  must  not  only  be  in  materials  that  wdll  last,  but  it  must  be  itself 
of  a quality  that  wdll  last — it  must  be  good  enough  to  bear  the  test 
of  time.  If  it  is  not  good,  we  shall  tire  of  it  quickly,  and  throw 
it  aside — we  shall  have  no  pleasure  in  the  accumulation  of  it.  So 
that*  the  first  question  of  a good  art-economist  respecting  any  work 
is,  Will  it  lose  its  flavour  by  keeping  ? It  may  be  very  amusing 
nowq  and  look  much  like  a work  of  genius.  But  what  will  be  its 
value  a hundred  yeais  hence  ? 

You  cannot  always  ascertain  this.  You  may  get  what  you  fancy 
to  be  w^ork  of  the  best  quality,  and  yet  find  to  your  astonishment 
that  it  w'on’t  keep.  But  of  one  thing  you  may  be  sure,  that  art 
which  is  produced  hastily  will  also  perish  hastily ; and  that  what 
is  cheapest  to  you  now,  is  likely  to  be  dearest  in  the  end. 

I am  sorry  to  say,  the  great  tendency  of  this  age  is  to  expend  its 
genius  in  perishable  art  of  this  kind,  as  if  it  were  a triumph  to 
burn  its  thoughts  away  in  bonfires.  There  is  a vast  quantity  of 
intellect  and  of  labour  consumed  annually  in  our  cheap  illustrated 
publications ; you  triumph  in  them  ; and  you  think  it  so  grand  a 
thing  to  get  so  many  woodcuts  for  a penny.  Why,  woodcuts? 
penny  and  all,  are  as  much  lost  to  you  as  if  you  had  invested  your 
money  in  gossamer.  More  lost,  for  the  gossamer  could  only  tickle 
your  face,  and  glitter  in  your  eyes ; it  could  not  catch  your  feet 
and  trip  you  up  : but  the  bad  art  can,  and  does  ; for  you  can’t  like 
good  woodents  as  long  as  you  look  at  the  bad  ones.  If  "we  were 
at  this  moment  to  come  across  a Titian  woodcut,  or  a Durer  wood- 
cut,  we  should  not  like  it — those  of  us  at  least  who  are  accustomed 


36 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


LECT.  I. 


to  the  cheap  work  of  the  day.  We  don’t  like,  and  can’t  like,  that 
long ; hut  when  we  are  tired  of  one  bad  cheap  thing,  we  throw  it 
aside  and  buy  another  bad  cheap  thing ; and  so  keep  looking  at 
bad  things  all  our  lives.  Now,  the  very  men  who  do  all  that  quick 
bad  work  for  us  are  capable  of  doing  perfect  work.  Onl)q  perfect 
Avork  can’t  be  hurried,  and  therefore  it  can’t  be  cheap  beyond  a 
certain  point.  But  suppose  you  pay  twelve  times  as  much  as  you 
do  now,  and  you  have  one  Avoodcut  for  a shilling  instead  of  twelve ; 
and  the  one  Avoodcut  for  a shilling  is  as  good  as  art  can  be,  so  that 
you  Avill  never  tire  of  looking  at  it ; and  is  struck  on  good  paper 
Avith  good  ink,  so  that  you  will  never  wear  it  out  by  handling  it ; 
Avhile  you  are  sick  of  your  penny  each  cuts  by  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  have  torn  them  mostly  in  half  too.  Isn’t  your  shilling’s  worth 
the  best  bargain  ? 

It  is  not,  hoAvever,  only  in  getting  prints  or  woodcuts  of  the  best 
kind  that  you  Avill  practise  economy.  There  is  a certain  quality 
about  an  original  drawing  Avhich  you  cannot  get  in  a woodcut,  and 
the  best  part  of  the  genius  of  any  man  is  only  expressible  in  ori- 
ginal Avork,  Avhether  Avith  pen  and  ink — pencil  or  colours.  This  is 
not  ahvays  the  case ; but  in  general  the  best  men  are  those  who 
can  only  express  themselves  on  paper  or  canvass : and  you  will, 
therefore,  in  the  long  run,  get  most  for  your  money  by  buying 
original  Avork ; proceeding  on  the  principle  already  laid  down,  that 
the  best  is  likely  to  bo  the  cheapest  in  the  end.  Of  course,  original 
Avoik  cannot  be  produced  under  a certain  cost.  If  you  Avant  a 
man  to  make  you  a draAving  Avhich  takes  him  six  days,  you  must, 
at  all  events,  keep  him  for  six  days  in  bread  and  water,  fire  and 
lodging  ; that  is  the  loAvest  price  at  Avhich  he  can  do  it  for  you,  but 
that  is  not  very  dear : and  the  best  bargain  Avhich  can  possibly  be 
made  honestly  in  art — the  very  ideal  of  a cheap  purchase  to  the 
purchaser — is  the  original  AVork  of  a great  man  fed  for  as  many 
days  as  are  necessary  on  bread  and  water,  or  perhaps  we  may  say 
Avitli  as  many  onions  as  Avill  keep  him  in  good  humour.  That  is 


II.  APPLICATION. 


37 


LEOT.  I.J 


the  way  by  which  you  will  always  get  most  for  your  money ; no 
mechanical  multiplication  or  ingenuity  of  commercial  arrangements 
will  ever  get  you  a better  penny’s  worth  of  art  than  that. 

Without,  however,  pushing  our  calculations  quite  to  this  prison- 
discipline  extreme,  w^e  may  lay  it  down  as  a rule  in  art-economy, 
that  original  work  is,  on  the  whole,  cheapest  and  best  worth  having. 
But  precisely  in  proportion  to  the  value  of  it  as  a production, 
becomes  the  importance  of  having  it  executed  in  permanent  mate- 
rials. And  here  we  come  to  note  the  second  main  error  of  the 
day,  that  we  not  only  ask  our  workmen  for  bad  art,  but  we  make 
them  put  it  into  bad  substance.  We  have,  for  example,  put  a great 
quantity  of  genius,  within  the  last  twenty  years,  into  water-colour 
drawing,  and  we  have  done  this  with  the  most  reckless  disregard 
whether  either  the  colours  or  the  paper  will  stand.  In  most  instan- 
ces, neither  will.  By  accident,  it  may  happen  that  the  colours  in 
a given  drawing  have  been  of  good  quality,  and  its  paper  uninjured 
by  chemical  processes.  But  you  take  not  the  least  care  to  ensure 
these  being  so;  I have  myself  seen  the  most  destructive  changes 
take  place  in  water-colour  drawings  within  twenty  years  after  they 
were  painted ; and  from  all  I can  gather  respecting  the  recklessness 
of  modern  paper  manufacture,  my  belief  is,  that  though  you  may 
still  handle  an  Albert  Durer  engraving,  two  hundred  years  old, 
fearlessly,  not  one-half  of  that  time  will  have  passed  over  your 
modern  water-colours,  before  most  of  them  will  be  reduced  to  mere 
white  or  brown  rags ; and  your  descendants,  twitching  them  con- 
temptuously into  fragments  between  finger  and  thumb,  will  mutter 
against  you,  half  in  scorn  and  half  in  anger,  “Those  wretched 
nineteenth  century  people  ! they  kept  vapouring  and  fuming  about 
the  w^orld,  doing  what  they  called  business,  and  they  couldn’t  make 
a sheet  of  paper  that  wasn’t  rotten.”  And  note  that  this  is  no 
unimportant  portion  of  your  art  economy  at  this  time.  Your 
water-colour  painters  are  becoming  every  day  capable  of  express- 
ing greater  and  better  things;  and  their  material  is  especially 


38 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OP  ART. 


[lect.  I, 


adapted  to  the  turn  of  your  best  artists’  minds.  The  value  which 
you  could  accumulate  in  work  of  this  kind  would  soon  become  a 
most  important  item  in  the  national  art-wealth,  if  only  you  would 
take  the  little  pains  necessary  to  secure  its  permanence.  I am 
inclined  to  think,  myself,  that  water-colour  ought  not  to  be  used 
on  paper  at  all,  but  only  on  vellum,  and  then,  if  properly  taken 
care  of,  the  drawing  would  be  almost  imperishable.  Still,  paper  is 
a much  more  convenient  material  for  rapid  work;  and  it  is  an 
infinite  absurdity  not  to  secure  the  goodness  of  its  quality,  when 
we  could  do  so  without  the  slightest  trouble.  Among  the  many 
favours  which  I am  going  to  ask  from  our  paternal  government 
when  we  get  it,  will  be  that  it  will  supply  its  little  boys  with  good 
paper.  You  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  let  the  government  esta- 
blish a paper  manufactory,  under  the  superintendence, of  any  of  our 
leading  chemists,  who  should  be  answerable  for  the  safety  and 
completeness  of  all  the  processes  of  the  manufacture.  The 
government  stamp  on  the  corner  of  your  sheet  of  drawing-paper, 
made  in  the  perfect  way,  should  cost  you  a shilling,  which  would 
add  something  to  the  revenue ; and  when  you  bought  a water- 
colour drawing  for  fifty  or  a hundred  guineas,  you  would  have 
merely  to  look  in  the  corner  for  your  stamp,  and  pay  your  extra 
shilling  for  the  security  that  your  hundred  guineas  were  given 
really  for  a drawing,  and  not  for  a coloured  rag.  There  need  be 
no  monopoly  or  restriction  in  the  matter;  let  the  paper  manu- 
facturers compete  with  the  government,  and  if  people  like  to  save 
their  shilling,  and  take  their  chance,  let  them;  only,  the  artist  and 
pm-chaser  might  then  be  sure  of  good  material,  if  they  liked,  and 
now  they  cannot  be. 

I should  like  also  to  have  a government  colour  manufactory; 
though  that  is  not  so  necessary,  as  the  quality  of  colour  is  more 
within  the  artist’s  power  of  testing,  and  I have  no  doubt  that  any 
painter  may  get  permanent  colour  from  the  respectable  manufac- 
turers, if  he  chooses.  1 will  not  attempt  to  follow  the  subject  out 


LECT.  I.] 


II.  APPLICATION. 


39 


at  all  as  it  respects  architecture,  and  our  methods  of  modern 
building ; respecting  which  I have  had  occasion  to  speak  before 
now. 

But  I cannot  pass  without  some  brief  notice  our  habit — con- 
tinually, as  it  seems  to  me,  gaining  strength — of  putting  a large 
quantity  of  thought  and  work,  annually,  into  things  which  are 
either  in  their  nature  necessarily  perishable,  as  dress  ; or  else  into 
compliances  with  the  fashion  of  the  day,  into  things  not  necessarily 
perishable,  as  plate.  I am  afraid  almost  the  first  idea  of  a young  rich 
couple  setting  up  house  in  London,  is,  that  they  must  have  new 
plate.  Their  father’s  plate  may  be  very  handsome,  but  the  fashion 
is  changed.  They  will  have  a new  service  from  the  leading  manu- 
facturer, and  the  old  plate,  except  a few  apostle  spoons,  and  a cup 
which  Charles  the  Second  drank  a health  into  their  pretty  ances- 
tress, is  sent  to  be  melted  down,  and  made  up  with  new  fiourishes 
and  fresh  lustre.  Now,  so  long  as  this  is  the  case — so  long,  ob- 
serve, as  fashion  has  influence  on  the  manufacture  of  plate — so 
long  you  cannot  have  a goldsmiths  art  in  this  country.  Do  you 
suppose  any  workman  worthy  the  name  will  put  his  brains  into  a 
cup  or  an  urn,  which  he  knows  is  to  go  to  the  melting  pot  in  half 
a score  years  ? He  will  not ; you  don’t  ask  or  expect  it  of  him. 
You  ask  of  him  nothing  but  a little  quick  handicraft — a clever 
twist  of  a handle  here,  and  a foot  there,  a convolvulus  from  the 
newest  school  of  design,  a pheasant  from  Landseer’s  game  cards  ; 
a couple  of  sentimental  figures  for  supporters,  in  the  style  of  the 
signs  of  insurance  offices,  then  a clever  touch  with  the  burnisher, 
and  there’s  your  epergne,  the  admiration  of  all  the  footmen  at  the 
wedding-breakfast,  and  the  torment  of  some  unfortunate  youth 
w’ho  cannot  see  the  pretty  girl  opposite  to  him,  through  its  tyran- 
nous branches. 

But  you  don’t  suppose  that  thai!s  goldsmith’s  work?  Gold- 
smith’s work  is  made  to  last,  and  made  with  the  men’s  whole 
heart  and  soul  in  it;  true  goldsmith’s  work,  when  it  exists,  is 


40  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  I. 

generally  tlie  means  of  education  of  the  greatest  painters  and 
sculptors  of  the  day.  Francia  was  a goldsmith  ; Francia  was  not 
his  own  name,  but  that  of  his  master  the  jeweller ; and  he  signed 
his  pictures  almost  always,  “ Francia,  the  goldsmith,”  for  love  of 
his  master  ; Ghirlandajo  was  a goldsmith,  and  was  the  master  of 
Michael  Angelo  ; Verrocchio  was  a goldsmith,  and  was  the  master 
of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  Ghiberti  was  a goldsmith,  and  beat  out 
the  bronze  gates  which  Michael  Angelo  said  might  serve  for  gates 
of  Paradise.  ^ But  if  ever  you  want  work  like  theirs  again,  you 
must  keep  it,  though  it  should  have  the  misfortune  to  become  old 
fashioned.  You  must  not  break  it  up,  nor  melt  it  any  more. 
There  is  no  economy  in  that ; you  could  not  easily  waste  intellect 
more  grievously.  Nature  may  melt  her  goldsmith’s  work  at  every 
sunset  if  she  chooses ; and  beat  it  out  into  chased  bars  again  at 
every  sunrise  ; but  you  must  not.  The  way  to  have  a truly  noble 
service  of  plate,  is  to  keep  adding  to  it,  not  melting  it.  At  every 
marriage,  and  at  every  birth,  get  a new  piece  of  gold  or  silver  if 
you  will,  but  with  noble  workmanship  on  it,  done  for  all  time,  and 
put  it  among  your  treasures ; that  is  one  of  the  chief  things  which 
gold  was  made  for,  and  made  incorruptible  for.  When  we  know 
a little  more  of  political  economy,  we  shall  find  that* none  but  par-'' 
tially  savage  nations  need,  imperatively,  gold  for  their  currency  f 
but  gold  has  been  given  us,  among  other  things,  that  we  might 
put  beautiful  work  into  its  imperishable  splendour,  and  that  the 

* Several  reasons  may  account  for  the  fact  that  goldsmith’s  work  is  so 
wholesome  for  young  artists;  first,  that  it  gives  great  firmness  of  hand  to 
deal  for  some  time  with  a solid  substance ; again,  that  it  induces  caution  and 
steadiness — a boy  trusted  with  chalk  and  paper  suffers  an  immediate  temp- 
tation to  scrawl  upon  it  and  play  with  it,  but  he  dares  not  scrawl  on  gold, 
and  he  cannot  play  with  it;  and,  lastl}^,  that  it  gives  great  delicacy  and  pre- 
cision of  touch  to  work  upon  minute  forms,  and  to  aim  at  producing  richness 
and  finish  of  design  correspondent  to  the  preciousuess  of  the  material. 

’ See  note  in  Addenda  on  the  nature  of  property. 


LECT.  I.] 


II.  APPLICATION. 


41 


artists  who  have  the  most  wilful  fancies  may  have  a material  which 
will  drag  out,  and  beat  out,  as  their  dreams  require,  and  will  hold 
itself  together  with  fantastic  tenacity,  whatever  rare  and  delicate 
service  they  set  it  upon. 

So  here  is  one  branch  of  decorative  art  in  which  rich  people 
may  indulge  themselves  unselfishly ; if  they  ask  for  good  art  in  it, 
they  may  be  sure  in  buying  gold  and  silver  plate  that  they  are 
enforcing  useful  education  on  young  artists.  But  there  is  another 
branch  of  decorative  art  in  which  I am  sorry  to  say  we  cannot,  at 
least  under  existing  circumstances,  indulge  ourselves,  with  the  hope 
of  doing  good  to  anybody,  I mean  the  great  and  subtle  art  of  dress. 

And  here  I must  interrupt  the  pursuit  of  our  subject  for  a mo- 
ment or  two,  in  order  to  state  one  of  the  principles  of  political 
economy,  which,  though  it  is,  I believe,  now  sufficiently  under- 
stood and  asserted  by  the  leading  masters  of  the  science,  is  not  yet, 
I grieve  to  say,  acted  upon  by  the  plurality  of  those  who  have  the 
management  of  riches.  Whenever  we  spend  money,  we  of  course 
set  people  to  work  : that  is  the  meaning  of  spending  money  ; we 
may,  indeed,  lose  it  without  employing  anybody ; but,  whenever 
we  spend  it,  we  set  a number  of  people  to  work,  greater  or  less, 
of  course,  according  to  the  rate  of  wages,  but,  in  the  long  run, 
proportioned  to  the  sum  we  spend.  Well,  your  shallow  people, 
because  they  see  that  however  they  spend  money  they  are  always 
employing  somebody,  and,  therefore,  doing  some  good,  think  and 
say  to  themselves,  that  it  is  all  one  how  they  spend  it — that  all 
their  apparently  selfish  luxury  is,  in  reality,  unselfish,  and  is  doing 
just  as  much  good  as  if  they  gave  all  their  money  away,  or  per- 
haps more  good  ; and  I have  heard  foolish  people  even  declare  it 
as  a principle  of  political  economy,  that  whoever  invented  a new 
want^  conferred  a good  on  the  community.  I have  not  words 
strong  enough — at  least  I could  not,  without  shocking  you,  use 


^ See  note  5tli  in  Addenda, 


42 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


the  words  which  would  be  strong  enough — to  express  my  estimate 
of  the  absurdity  and  the  mischievousness  of  this  popular  fallacy. 
So,  puttiug  a great  restraint  upon  myself,  and  using  no  hard  words, 
I will  simply  try  to  state  the  nature  of  it,  and  the  extent  of  its 
influence. 

Granted,  that  whenever  we  spend  money  for  whatever  purpose, 
we  set  people  to  work ; and  passing  by,  for  the  moment,  the 
question  whether  the  work  we  set  them  to  is  all  equally  healthy 
and  good  for  them,  we  will  assume  that  whenever  we  spend  a 
guinea  we  provide  an  equal  number  of  people  with  healthy  main- 
tenance for  a given  time.  But,  by  the  way  in  which  we  spend  it, 
we  entirely  direct  the  labour  of  those  people  during  that  given 
time.  We  become  their  masters  or  mistresses,  and  we  compel 
them  to  produce,  within  a certain  period,  a certain  article.  Now, 
that  article  may  be  a useful  and  lasting  one,  or  it  may  be  a useless 
and  perishable  one — it  may  be  one  useful  to  the  Avhole  community, 
or  useful  only  to  ourselves.  And  our  selfishness  and  folly,  or  our 
virtue  and  prudence,  are  shown,  not  by  our  spending  money,  but 
by  our  spending  it  for  the  wrong  or  the  right  thing  ; and  we  are  wise 
and  kind,  not  in  maintaining  a certain  number  of  people  for  a given 
period,  but  only  in  requiring  them  to  produce,  during  that  period, 
the  kind  of  things  which  shall  be  useful  to  society,  instead  of  those 
which  are  only  useful  to  ourselves. 

Tims,  for  instance  : if  you  are  a young  lady,  and  employ  a cer- 
tain number  of  sempstresses  for  a given  time,  in  making  a given 
number  of  simple  and  serviceable  dresses,  suppose,  seven;  of  which 
you  can  wear  one  yourself  for  half  the  winter,  and  give  six  away 
to  poor  girls  who  have  none,  you  are  spending  your  money  unself- 
ishly. But  if  you  employ  the  same  number  of  sempstresses  for  the 
same  number  of  days,  in  making  four,  or  five,  or  six  beautiful 
flounces  for  your  own  ball-dress — flounces  which  will  clothe  no 
one  but  yourself,  and  which  you  will  yourself  be  unable  to  wear 
at  more  than  one  ball — you  are  employing  your  money  selfishly. 


LECT.  I.] 


II.  APPLICATION. 


43 


You  have  maintained,  indeed,  in  each  case,  the  same  number  of 
people  ; but  in  the  one  case  you  have  directed  their  labour  to  the 
service  of  the  community ; in  the  other  case  you  have  consumed 
it  wholly  upon  yourself.  I don’t  say  you  are  never  to  do  so  ; I 
don’t  say  you  ought  not  sometimes  to  think  of  yourselves  onl}', 
and  to  make  yourselves  as  pretty  as  you  can  ; only  do  not  confuse 
coquettishness  with  benevolence,  nor  cheat  yourselves  into  think- 
ing that  all  the  finery  you  can  wear  is  so  much  put  into  the 
hungry  mouths  of  those  beneath  you  : it  is  not  so  ; it  is  what  you 
yourselves,  whether  you  will  or  no,  must  sometimes  instinctively 
feel  it  to  be— it  is  what  those  who  stand  shivering  in  the  streets, 
forming  a line  to  watch  you  as  you  step  out  of  your  carriages, 
hmw  it  to  be ; those  fine  dresses  do  not  mean  that  so  much 
has  been  put  into  their  mouths,  but  that  so  much  has  been 
taken  out  of  their  mouths.  The  real  politico-economical  signifi- 
cation of  every  one  of  those  beautiful  toilettes,  is  just  this ; that 
you  have  had  a certain  number  of  people  put  for  a certain  number 
of  days  wholly  under  your  authority,  by  the  sternest  of  slave- 
masters, — hunger  and  cold ; and  you  have  said  to  them,  “ I will 
fee‘d  you,  indeed,  and  clothe  you,  and  give  you  fuel  for  so  many 
days ; but  during  those  days  you  shall  work  for  me  only : your 
little  brothers  need  clothes,  but  you  shall  make  none  for  them  : 
vour  sick  friend  needs  clothes,  but  you  shall  make  none  for  her  : 
vou  vourself  will  soon  need  another,  and  a warmer  dress ; but  you 
shall  make  none  for  yourself.  You  shall  make  nothing  but  lace 
and  roses  for  me  ; for  this  fortnight  to  come,  you  shall  work  at 
the  patterns  and  petals,  and  then  I will  crush  and  consume  them 
awav  in  an  hour.”  You  will  perhaps  answer — “ It  may  not  be 
particularly  benevolent  to  do  this,  and  we  won’t  call  it  so  ; but  at 
anv  rate  we  do  no  wrong  in  taking  their  labour  when  we  pay 
them  their  wages  : if  we  pay  for  their  work  we  have  a right  to 
it.”  No ; — a thousand  times  no.  The  labour  which  you  have 
paid  for,  does  indeed  become,  by  the  act  of  purchase,  your  own 


44 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


labour  : you  have  bought  tbe  bands  and  the  time  of  those  work- 
ers ; they  are,  by  right  and  justice,  your  own  hands,  your  own 
time.  But,  have  you  a right  to  spend  your  own  time,  to  work 
with  your  own  hands,  only  for  your  own  advantage  ? — much 
more,  when,  by  purchase,  you  have  invested  your  own  person 
with  the  strength  of  others ; and  added  to  your  own  life,  a part 
of  the  life  of  others?  You  may,  indeed,  to  a certain  extent,  use 
their  labour  for  your  delight;  remember,  I am  making  no  gene- 
ral assertions  against  splendour  of  dress,  or  pomp  of  accessaries 
of  life ; on  the  contrary,  there  are  many  reasons  for  thinking  that 
we  do  not  at  present  attach  enough  importance  to  beautiful  dress, 
as  one  of  the  means  of  influencing  general  taste  and  character. 
But  I do  say,  that  you  must  weigh  the  value  of  what  you  ask 
these  workers  to  produce  for  you  in  its  own  distinct  balance  ; that 
on  its  own  worthiness  or  desirableness  rests  the  question  of  your 
kindness,  and  not  merely  on  the  fact  of  your  having  employed 
people  in  producing  it : and  I say  farther,  that  as  long  as  there 
are  cold  and  nakedness  in  the  land  around  you,  so  long  there 
can  be  no  question  at  all  but  that  splendour  of  dress  is  a crime. 
In  due  time,  when  we  have  nothing  better  to  set  people  to  work 
at,  it  may  be  right  to  let  them  make  lace  and  cut  jewels ; but,  as 
long  as  there  arc  any  who  have  no  blankets  for  their  beds,  and 
no  rags  for  their  bodies,  so  long  it  is  blanket-making  and  tailoring 
we  must  set  people  to  work  at — not  lace. 

And  it  would  be  strange,  if  at  any  great  assembly  which,  while 
it  dazzled  the  young  and  the  thoughtless,  beguiled  the  gentler 
hearts  that  beat  beneath  the  embroidery,  with  a placid  sensation 
of  luxurious  benevolence — as  if  by  all  that  they  wore  in  wayward- 
ness of  beauty,  comfort  had  been  first  given  to  the  distressed,  and 
aid  to  the  indigent ; it  would  be  strange,  I say,  if,  for  a moment, 
the  spirits  of  Truth  and  of  Terror,  which  walk  invisibly  among  the 
masques  of  the  earth,  would  lift  the  dimness  from  our  erring' 
thoughts,  and  show  us  how — inasmuch  as  the  sums  exhausted  for 


LECT.  I.] 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


45 


that  magnificence  would  have  given  hack  the  failing  breath  to 
many  an  unsheltered  outcast  on  moor  and  street — they  who  wear 
it  have  literally  entered  into  partnership  with  Death  ; and  dressed 
themselves  in  his  spoils.  Yes,  if  the  veil  could  be  lifted  not  only 
from  your  thoughts,  but  from  your  human  sight,  you  would  see — 
the  angels  do  see — on  those  gay  white  dresses  of  yours,  strange 
dark  spots,  and  crimson  patterns  that  you  knew  not  of — spots  of 
the  inextinguishable  red  that  all  the  seas  cannot  wash  away ; yes, 
and  among  the  pleasant  flowers  that  crown  your  fair  heads,  and 
glow  on  your  wreathed  hair,  you  would  see  that  one  weed  was 
always  twisted  which  no  one  thought  of — the  grass  that  grows  on 
graves. 

It  was  not,  however,  this  last,  this  clearest  and  most  appal- 
ling view  of  our  subject,  that  I intended  to  ask  you  to  take  this 
evening ; only  it  is  impossible  to  set  any  part  of  the  matter  in  its 
true  light,  until  we  go  to  the  root  of  it.  But  the  point  which  it 
is  our  special  business  to  consider  is,  not  whether  costliness  of 
dress  is  contrary  to  charity ; but  whether  it  is  not  contrary  to 
mere  worldly  wisdom : whether,  even  supposing  we  knew  that 
splendour  of  dress  did  not  cost  suffering  or  hunger,  we  might 
not  put  the  splendour  better  in  other  things  than  dress.  And, 
supposing  our  mode  of  dress  were  really  graceful  or  beautiful, 
this  might  be  a very  doubtful  question;  for  I believe  true 
nobleness  of  dress  to  be  an  important  means  of  education,  as  it 
certainly  is  a necessity  to  any  nation  which  wishes  to  possess  living 
art,  concerned  with  portraiture  of  human  nature.  No  good  his- 
torical painting  ever  yet  existed,  or  ever  can  exist,  where  the 
dresses  of  the  people  of  the  time  are  not  beautiful : and  had  it 
not  been  for  the  lovely  and  fantastic  dressing  of  the  13th  to 
the  16th  centuries,  neither  French,  nor  Florentine,  nor  Venetian 
art  could  have  risen  to  anything  like  the  rank  it  reached.  Still, 
even  then,  the  best  dressing  was  never  the  costliest;  and  its  effect 
depended  much  more  on  its  beautiful  and,  in  early  times, 


46 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


LECT.  I. 


modest,  arrangement,  and  on  the  simple  and  lovely  masses  of  its 
colour,  than  on  gorgeousness  of  .clasp  or  embroidery.  Whether 
Ave  can  ever  return  to  any  of  those  more  perfect  types  of  form 
is  questionable ; but  there  can  be  no  question,  that  all  the 
money  we  spend  on  the  forms  of  dress  at  present  worn,  is,  so 
i'ar  as  any  good  purpose  is  concerned,  wholly  lost.  Mind,  in 
saying  this,  I reckon  among  good  purposes  the  purpose  which 
young  ladies  are  said  sometimes  to  entertain — of  being  mar- 
I’ied ; but  they  would  be  married  quite  as  soon  (and  probably 
to  wiser  and  better  husbands)  by  dressing  quietly  as  by  dressing 
brilliantly ; and  I believe  it  would  only  be  needed  to  lay  fairly 
and  largely  before  them  the  real  good  which  might  be  effected 
by  the  sums  they  spend  in  toilettes,  to  make  them  trust  at  once 
only  to  their  bright  eyes  and  braided  hair  for  all  the  mischief 
they  have  a mind  to.  I wish  we  could,  for  once,  get  the 
statistics  of  a London  season.  There  was  much  complaining  talk 
in  Parliament  last  week  of  the  vast  sum  the  nation  has  given  for 
the  best  Paul  Veronese  in  Venice — £14,000  : I wonder  what  the 
nation  meanwhile  has  given  for  its  ball-dresses ! Suppose  we  could 
sec  the  London  milliners’  bills,  simply  for  unnecessary  breadths  of 
slip  and  flounces,  from  April  to  July  ; I wonder  whether  £14,000 
would  cover  them.  But  the  breadths  of  slip  and  flounces  are  by 
this  time  as  much  lost  and  vanished  as  last  year’s  snow;  only  they 
have  done  less  good  : but  the  Paul  Veronese  will  last  for  centuries, 
if  we  take  care  of  it ; and  yet  we  grumble  at  the  price  given  for 
the  painting^  while  no  one  grumbles  at  the  price  of  pride. 

Time  docs  not  permit  me  to  go  into  any  farther  illustration  of 
the  various  modes  in  which  we  build  our  statue  out  of  snow,  and 
waste  our  labour  on  things  that  vanish.  I must  leave  you  to  fol- 
low out  the  subject  for  yourselves,  as  I said  I should,  and  proceed, 
in  our  next  lecture,  to  examine  the  two  other  branches  of  our  sub- 
ject, namely,  how  to  accumulate  our  art,  and  how  to  distribute  it. 
But,  in  closing,  as  we  have  been  much  on  the  topic  of  good 


LECT.  I.J 


II.  APPLICATION. 


47 


government,  both  of  ourselves  and  others,  let  me  just  give  you 
one  more  illustration  of  what  it  means,  from  that  old  art  of  which, 
next  evening,  I shall  try  to  convince  you  that  the  value,  both 
moral  and  mercantile,  is  greater  than  we  usually  suppose. 

One  of  the  frescoes  by  Ambrozio  Lorenzetti,  in  the  town-hall 
of  Siena,  represents,  by  means  of  symbolical  figures,  the  principles 
of  Good  Civic  Government  and  of  Good  Government  in  general. 
The  figure  representing  this  noble  Civic  Government  is  enthroned, 
and  surrounded  by  figures  representing  the  Virtues,  variously  sup- 
porting or  administering  its  authority.  Now,  observe  what  work 
is  given  to  each  of  these  virtues.  Three  winged  ones — Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity — surrounded  the  head  of  the  figure,  not  in 
mere  compliance  with  the  common  and  heraldic  laws  of  prece- 
dence among  Virtues,  such  as  we  moderns  observe  habitually,  but 
with  peculiar  purpose  on  the  part  of  the  painter.  Faith,  as  thus 
represented,  ruling  the  thoughts  of  the  Good  Governor,  does  not 
mean  merely  religious  faith,  understood  in  those  times  to  be  neces- 
sary to  all  persons — governed  no  less  than  governors — but  it 
means  the  faith  which  enables  work  to  be  carried  out  steadily,  in 
spite  of  adverse  appearances  and  expediencies ; the  faith  in  great 
principles,  by  which  a civic  ruler  looks  past  all  the  immediate 
checks  and  shadows  that  would  daunt  a common  man,  knowing 
that  what  is  rightly  done  will  have  a right  issue,  and  holding  his 
way  in  spite  of  pullings  at  his  cloak  and  whisperings  in  his  ear, 
enduring,  as  having  in  him  a faith  which  is  evidence  of  things  un- 
seen. And  Hope,  in  like  manner,  is  here  not  the  heavenward  hope 
which  ought  to  animate  the  hearts  of  all  men  ; but  she  attends  upon 
Good  Government,  to  show  that  all  such  government  is  expectant  as 
well  as  conservative ; that  if  it  ceases  to  be  hopeful  of  better 
things,  it  ceases  to  be  a wise  guardian  of  present  things : that  it 
ought  never,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts,  to  be  wholly  content  with 
any  existing  state  of  institution  or  possession,  but  to  be  hopeful 
still  of  more  wisdom  and  power ; not  clutching  at  it  restlessly  or 


48 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lect.  I. 


liastily,  but  feeling  that  its  real  life  consists  in  steady  ascent  from 
high  to  higher:  conservative,  indeed,  and  jealously  conservative 
of  old  things,  but  conservative  of  them  as  pillars  not  as  pinnacles 
— as  aids,  but  not  as  Idols;  and  hopeful  chiefly,  and  active,  in 
times  of  national  trial  or  distress,  according  to  those  first  and 
notable  words  describing  the  queenly  nation.  “ She  riseth,  wKile 
it  is  yet  nightr  And  again,  the  winged  Charity  which  is  atten- 
dant on  Good  Government  has,  in  this  fresco,  a peculiar  ofiice. 
Can  you  guess  what?  If  you  consider  the  character  of  contest 
which  so  often  takes  place  among  kings  for  their  crowns,  and  the 
selfish  and  tyrannous  means  they  commonly  take  to  aggrandize  or 
secure  their  power,  you  will,  perhaps,,  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
the  ofiice  of  Charity  is  to  crown  the  King.  And  yet,  if  you  think 
of  it  a little,  you  will  see  the  beauty  of  the  thought  which  sets  her 
in  this  function : since  in  the  first  place,  all  the  authority  of  a 
good  governor  should  be  desired  by  him  only  for  the  good  of  his 
people,  so  that  it  is  only  Love  that  makes  him  accept  or  guard  his 
crown  : in  the  second  place,  his  chief  greatness  consists  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  this  love,  and  he  is  truly  to  be  revered  only  so  far  as  his 
acts  and  thoughts  are  those  of  kindness;  so  that  Love  is  the  light 
of  his  crown,  as  well  as  the  giver  of  it : lastly,  because  his  strength 
depends  on  the  affections  of  his  people,  and  it  is  only  their  love 
which  can  securely  crown  him,  and  for  ever.  So  that  Love  is  the 
strength  of  his  crown  as  well  as  the  light  of  it. 

Then,  surrounding  the  King,  or  in  various  obedience  to  him, 
;ij)[)car  the  dependent  virtues,  as  Fortitude,  Temperance,  Truth, 
and  other  attendant  spirits,  of  all  which  I cannot  now  give  ac- 
count, Avishing  you  only  to  notice  the  one  to  whom  are  entrusted 
the  guidance  and  administration  of  the  public  revenues.  Can  you 
guess  which  it  is  likely  to  be  ? Charity,  you  would  have  thought, 
should  have  something  to  do  with  the  business;  but  not  so,  for 
she  is  too  hot  to  attend  carefully  to  it.  Prudence,  perhaps,  you 
think  of  in  the  next  place.  No,  she  is  too  timid,  and  loses  oppor- 


LECT.  I.]  II.  APPLICATION.  49 

tunities  in  making  up  her  mind.  Can  it  be  Liberality  then? 
No : Liberality  is  entrusted  with  some  small  sums ; but  she  is  a 
bad  accountant,  and  is  allowed  no  important  place  in  the  exche- 
quer. But  the  treasures  are  given  in  charge  to  a virtue  of  which 
we  hear  too  little  in  modern  times,  as  distinct  from  others; 
Magnanimity : largeness  of  heart : not  softness  or  weakness  of 
heart,  mind  you — but  capacity  of  heart — the  great  measuring 
virtue,  which  weighs  in  heavenly  balances  all  that  may  be  given, 
and  all  that  may  be  gained ; and  sees  how  to  do  noblest  things  in 
noblest  ways : which  of  two  goods  comprehends  and  therefore 
chooses  the  greatest : which  of  two  personal  sacrifices  dares  and 
accepts  the  largest:  which,  out  of  the  avenues  of  beneficence, 
treads  always  that  which  opens  farthest  into  the  blue  fields  of 
futurity : that  character,  in  fine,  which,  in  those  words  taken  by 
us  at  first  for  the  description  of  a Queen  among  the  nations,  looks 
less  to  the  present  power  than  to  the  distant  promise ; “ Strength 
and  honour  are  in  her  clothing, — and  she  shall  rejoice  in  time 

TO  COME.” 


3 


50 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OP  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


LECTURE  II. 

The  heads  of  our  subject  which  remain  for  our  consideration 
this  evening  are,  you  will  remember,  the  accumulation  and  the 
distribution  of  works  of  art.  Our  complete  inquiry  fell  into  four 
divisions — first,  how  to  get  our  genius ; then,  how  to  apply  our 
genius;  then,  how  to  accumulate  its  results;  and  lastly,  how  to 
distribute  them.  We  considered,  last  evening,  how  to  discover 
and  apply  it ; — we  have  to-night  to  examine  the  modes  of  its 
preservation  and  distribution. 

And  now,  in  the  outset,  it  will  be  well  to  face  that  objection 
which  we  put  aside  a little  while  ago ; namely,  that  perhaps  it  is 
not  well  to  have  a gi’eat  deal  of  good  art ; and  that  it  should  not 
be  made  too  cheap. 

^ Nay,”  I can  imagine  some  of  the  more  generous  among  you, 
exclaiming,  “ we  will  not  trouble  you  to  disprove  that  objection; 
of  course  it  is  a selfish  and  base  one : good  art,  as  well  as  other 
good  things,  ought  to  be  made  as  cheap  as  possible,  and  put  as  far 
as  we  can  within  the  reach  of  everybody.” 

Pardon  me,  I am  not  prepared  to  admit  that.  I rather  side 
with  the  selfish  objectors,  and  believe  that  art  ought  not  to  be 
made  cheap,  beyond  a certain  point ; for  the  amount  of  pleasure 
that  you  can  receive  from  any  great  work,  depends  wholly  on  the 
quantity  of  attention  and  energy  of  mind  you  can  bring  to  bear 
upon  it.  Now,  that  attention  and  energy  depend  much  more  on 
the  fi-eshness  of  the  thing  than  you  would  at  all  suppose  ; unless 
you  very  carefully  studied  the  movements  of  your  own  minds.  If 
you  see  things  of  the  same  kind  and  of  equal  value  very  fre- 


LECT.  II.] 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


51 


quently,  your  reverence  for  them  is  infallibly  diminished,  your 
powers  of  attention  get  gradually  wearied,  and  your  interest  and 
enthusiasm  worn  out ; and  you  cannot  in  that  state  bring  to  any 
given  work  the  energy  necessary  to  enjoy  it.  If,  indeed,  the 
question  were  only  between  enjoying  a great  many  pictures  each  a 
little,  or  one  picture  very  much,  the  sum  of  enjoyment  being  in 
each  case  the  same,  you  might  rationally  desire  to  possess  rather 
the  larger  quantity,  than  the  small  ; both  because  one  work  of  art 
always  in  some  sort  illustrates  another,  and  because  quantity 
diminishes  the  chances  of  destruction.  But  the  question  is  not  a 
merely  arithmetical  one  of  this  kind.  Your  fragments  of  broken 
admirations  will  not,  when  they  are  put  together,  make  up  one 
Avhole  admiration ; two  and  two,  in  this  case,  do  not  make  four, 
nor  anything  like  four.  Your  good  picture,  or  book,  or  work  of 
art  of  any  kind,  is  always  in  some  degree  fenced  and  closed  about 
with  difficulty.  You  may  think  of  it  as  of  a kind  of  cocoa-nut,  with 
very  often  rather  an  unseemly  shell,  but  good  milk  and  kernel 
inside.  Now,  if  you  possess  twenty  cocoa-nuts,  and  being  thirsty, 
go  impatiently  from  one  to  the  other,  giving  only  a single  scratch 
with  the  point  of  your  knife  to  the  shell  of  each,  you  will  get  no 
milk  from  all  the  twenty.  But  if  you  leave  nineteen  of  them 
alone,  and  give  twenty  cuts  to  the  shell  of  one,  you  will  get 
through  it,  and  at  the  milk  of  it.  And  the  tendency  of  the 
human  mind  is  always  to  get  tired  before  it  has  made  its  twenty 
cuts ; and  to  try  another  nut ; and  moreover,  even  if  it  has  per- 
severance enough  to  crack  its  nuts,  it  is  sure  to  try  to  eat  too 
many,  and  so  choke  itself.  Hence,  it  is  wisely  appointed  for  us 
that  few  of  the  things  we  desire  can  be  had  without  considerable 
labour,  and  at  considerable  intervals  of  time.  We  cannot  gene- 
rally get  our  dinner  without  working  for  it,  and  that  gives  us  ap- 
petite for  it ; we  cannot  get  our  holiday  without  waiting  for  it, 
and  that  gives  us  zest  for  it ; and  we  ought  not  to  get  our  picture 
without  paying  for  it,  and  that  gives  us  a mind  to  look  at  it. 


52  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

Nay,  I will  even  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that  we  ought  not  to  get 
hooks  too  cheaply.  No  book,  I believe,  is  ever  worth  half  so 
much  to  its  reader  as  one  that  has  been  coveted  for  a year  at  a 
bookstall,  and  bought  out  of  saved  half-pence ; and  perhaps  a day 
or  two’s  fasting.  That’s  the  way  to  get  at  the  cream  of  a book. 
And  I should  say  more  on  this  matter,  and  protest  as  energetically 
as  I could  against  the  plague  of  cheap  literature,  with  which  we 
are  just  now  afflicted,  but  that  I fear  your  calling  me  to  order,  as 
being  unpractical,  because  I don’t  quite  see  my  way  at  present  to 
making  everybody  fast  for  their  books.  But  one  may  see  that  a 
thing  is  desirable  and  possible,  even  though  one  may  not  at  once 
know  the  best  way  to  it — and  in  my  island  of  Barataria,  when  I 
get  it  well  into  order,  I assure  you  no  book  shall  be  sold  for  less 
than  a pound  sterling ; if  it  can  be  published  cheaper  than  that, 
the  surplus  shall  all  go  into  my  treasury,  and  save  my  subjects 
taxation  in  other  directions;  only  people  really  poor,  who  cannot 
pay  the  pound,  shall  be  supplied  with  the  books  they  want  for 
nothing,  in  a certain  limited  quantity.  I haven’t  made  up  my 
mind  about  the  number  yet,  and  there  are  several  other  points  in 
the  system  yet  unsettled ; when  they  are  all  determined,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  I will  come  and  give  you  another  lecture,  on  the 
political  economy  of  literature.^ 

^leantime,  returning  to  our  immediate  subject,  I say  to  my  gene- 
rous hearers,  who  want  to  shower  Titians  and  Turners  upon  us, 
like  falling  leaves,  “Pictures  ought  not  to  be  too  cheap;”  but  in 
much  stronger  tone  I would  say  to  those  who  want  to  keep  up  the 
prices  of  pictorial  property,  that  pictures  ought  not  to  be  too  dear, 
that' is  to  say,  not  as  dear  as  they  are.  For,  as  matters  at  present 
stand,  it  is  wholly  impossible  for  any  man  in  the  ordinary  circum- 
stances of  English  life  to  possess  himself  of  a piece  of  great  art. 
A modern  drawing  of  average  merit,  or  a first-class  engraving. 


See  note  6th  in  Addenda. 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


53 


LECT.  II.] 

may  perhaps,  not  without  some  self-reproach,  be  purchased  out  of 
his  savings  by  a man  of  narrow  income ; but  a satisfactory  exam- 
ple of  first-rate  art — master-hands’  work — is  wholly  out  of  his 
reach.  And  we  are  so  accustomed  to  look  upon  this  as  the  natu- 
ral course  and  necessity  of  things,  that  we  never  set  ourselves  in 
any  wise  to  diminish  the  evil ; and  yet  it  is  an  evil  perfectly  capa- 
ble of  diminution.  It  is  an  evil  precisely  similar  in  kind  to  that 
which  existed  in  the  middle  ages,  respecting  good  books,  and 
which  everybody  then,  I suppose,  thought  as  natural  as  we  do  now 
our  small  supply  of  good  pictures.  You  could  not  then  study  the 
work  of  a great  historian,  or  great  poet,  any  more  than  you  can 
now  study  that  of  a great  painter,  but  at  heavy  cost.  If  you 
wanted  a book,  you  had  to  get  it  written  out  for  you,  or  to  write 
it  out  for  yourself.  But  printing  came,  and  the  poor  man  may 
read  his  Dante  and  his  Homer  ; and  Dante  and  Homer  are  none 
the  w^orse  for  that.  But  it  is  only  in  literature  that  private  per- 
sons of  moderate  fortune  can  possess  and  study  greatness : they 
can  study  at  home  no  greatness  in  art ; and  the  object  of  that 
accumulation  which  w^e  are  at  present  aiming  at,  as  our  third 
object  in  political  economy,  is  to  bring  great  art  in  some  degree 
within  the  reach  of  the  multitude  ; and,  both  in  larger  and  more 
numerous  galleries  than  "we  now  possess,  and  by  distribution, 
according  to  his  wealth  and  wish,  in  each  man’s  home,  to  render 
the  influence  of  art  somewhat  correspondent  in  extent  to  that  of 
literature.  Here,  then,  is  the  subtle  balance  which  your  economist 
has  to  strike  : to  accumulate  so  much  art  as  to  be  able  to  give  the 
whole  nation  a supply  of  it,  according  to  its  need,  and  yet  to  regu- 
late its  distribution  so  that  there  shall  be  no  glut  of  it,  nor  contempt. 

A difficult  balance,  indeed,  for  us  to  hold,  if  it  were  left  merely 
to  our  skill  to  poise  ; but  the  just  point  between  poverty  and  pro- 
fusion has  been  fixed  for  us  accurately  by  the  wise  laws  of  Provi- 
dence. If  you  carefully  w^atch  for  all  the  genius  you  can  detect, 
apply  it  to  good  service,  and  then  reverently  preserve  what  it  pro- 


54 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


duces,  you  will  never  have  too  little  art ; and  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  never  force  an  artist  to  work  hurriedly,  for  daily  bread, 
nor  imperfectly,  because  you  would  rather  have  showy  works  than 
complete  ones,  you  will  never  have  too  much.  Do  not  force  the 
multiplication  of  art,  and  you  will  not  have  it  too  cheap ; do  not 
wantonly  destroy  it,  and  you  will  not  have  it  too  dear. 

“ But  who  wantonly  destroys  it  ?”  you  will  ask.  Why,  we  all 
do.  Perhaps  you  thought,  when  I came  to  tbis  part  of  our  sub- 
ject, corresponding  to  that  set  forth  in  our  housewife’s  economy 
by  the  “ keeping  her  embroidery  from  the  moth,”  that  I was  going 
to  tell  you  only  how  to  take  better  care  of  pictures,  how  to  clean 
them,  and  varnish  them,  and  where  to  put  them  away  safely  when 
you  went  out  of  town.  Ah,  not  at  all.  The  utmost  I have  to  ask 
of  you  is,  that  you  will  not  pull  them  to  pieces,  and  trample  them 
under  your  feet.  “ What,”  you  will  say,  “ when  do  we  do  such 
things  ? Haven’t  we  built  a perfectly  beautiful  gallery  for  all  the 
pictures  we  have  to  take  care  of?”  Yes,  you  have,  for  the  pic- 
tures which  are  definitely  sent  to  Manchester  to  be  taken  care  of. 
But  there  are  quantities  of  pictures  out  of  Manchester  which  it  is 
your  business,  and  mine  too,  to  take  care  of  no  less  than  of  these, 
and  which  we  are  at  this  moment  employing  ourselves  in  pulling 
to  pieces  by  deputy.  I will  tell  you  what  they  are,  and  where 
they  are,  in  a minute ; only  first  let  me  state  one  more  of  those 
main  principles  of  political  economy  on  which  the  matter  hinges. 

I must  begin  a little  apparently  wide  of  the  mark,  and  ask  you 
to  reflect  if  there  is  any  way  in  which  we  waste  money  more  in 
England,  than  in  building  fine  tombs  ? Our  respect  for  the  dead, 
when  they  2iVQjust  dead,  is  something  wonderful,  and  the  way  we 
show  it  more  wonderful  still.  We  show  it  with  black  feathers  and 
black  horses ; we  show  it  with  black  dresses  and  bright  heraldries ; 
we  show  it  with  costly  obelisks  and  sculptures  of  sorrow,  which 
spoil  half  of  our  most  beautiful  cathedrals.  We  show  it  with  fright- 
ful gratings  and  vaults,  and  lids  of  dismal  stone,  in  the  midst  of  the 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


55 


LECT.  II.] 

quiet  grass;  and  last,  not  least,  we  show  it  by  permitting  ourselves 
to  tell  any  number  of  lies  we  think  amiable  or  credible,  in  the  epi- 
taph, This  feeling  is  common  to  the  poor  as  well  as  the  rich ; 
and  we  all  know  how  many  a poor  family  will  nearly  ruin  them- 
selves, to  testify  their  respect  for  some  member  of  it  in  his  coffin, 
whom  they  never  much  cared  for  when  he  was  out  of  it ; and  how 
often  it  happens  that  a poor  old  woman  will  starve  hei’self  to  death, 
in  order  that  she  may  be  respectably  buried. 

Now,  this  being  one  of  the  most  complete  and  special  ways  of 
wasting  money ; — no  money  being  less  productive  of  good,  or  of 
any  percentage  whatever,  than  that  which  we  shake  away  from  the 
ends  of  undertakers’  plumes — it  is  of  course  the  duty  of  all  good 
economists,  and  kind  persons,  to  prove  and  proclaim  continually, 
to  the  poor  as  well  as  the  ricli,  that  respect  for  the  dead  is  not 
really  shown  by  laying  great  stones  on  them  to  tell  ns  where  they 
are  laid ; but  by  remembering  where  they  are  laid  without  a stone 
to  help  us ; trusting  them  to  the  sacred  grass  and  saddened  flowers ; 
and  still  more,  that  respect  and  love  are  shown  to  them,  not  by 
great  monuments  to  them  which  we  build  with  our  hands,  but  by 
letting  the  monuments  stand,  which  they  built  with  their  own. 
And  this  is  the  point  now  in  question. 

Observe,  there  aredwo  great  reciprocal  duties  concerning  indus- 
tr}^,  constantly  to  be  exchanged  between  the  living  and  the  dead. 
We,  as  we  live  and  work,  ace  to  be  always  thinking  of  those 
who  are  to  come  after  us  ; that  what  we  do  may  be  serviceable,  as 
far  as  we  can  make  it  so,  to  them,  as  well  as  to  us.  Then,  when 
we  die,  it  is  the  duty  of  those  who  come  after  us  to  accept  this 
work  of  oui*s  with  thanks  and  remembrance,  not  thrusting  it  aside 
or  tearing  it  down  the  moment  they  think  they  have  no  use  for  it. 
And  each  generation  will  only  be  happy  or  powerful  to  the  pitch 
that  it  ought  to  be,  in  fulfilling  these  two  duties  to  the  Past  and 
the  Future.  Its  own  work  will  never  be  rightly  done,  even  for 
itself — never  good,  or  noble,  or  pleasurable  to  its  own  eyes — if  it 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


5G 


[lECT.  II. 


does  not  prepare  it  also  for  the  eyes  of  generations  yet  to  come. 
And  its  own  possessions  will  never  be  enough  for  it,  and  its  owm 
wisdom  never  enough  for  it,  unless  it  avails  itself  gratefully  and 
tenderly  of  the  treasures  and  the  wisdom  bequeathed  to  it  by  its 
ancestors. 

For,  be  assured,  that  all  the  best  things  and  treasures  of  this 
world  are  not  to  be  produced  by  each  generation  for  itself ; but  w’e 
are  all  intended,  not  to  carve  our  work  in  snow  that  will  melt,  but 
each  and  all  of  us  to  be  continually  rolling  a great  white  gathering 
snowball,  higher  and  higher — larger  and  larger — along  the  Alps  of 
human  power.  Thus  the  science  of  nations  is  to  be  accumulative 
from  father  to  son  : each  learning  a little  more  and  a little  more ; 
each  receiving  all  that  was  known,  and  adding  its  own  gain  : the 
history  and  poetr}^  of  nations  are  to  be  accumulative ; each  genera- 
tion treasuring  the  history  and  the  songs  of  its  ancestors,  adding 
its  own  history  and  its  own  songs ; and  the  art  of  nations  is  to  be 
accumulative,  just  as  science  and  history  are ; the  work  of  living 
men  not  superseding,  but  building  itself  upon  the  work  of  the  past. 
Nearly  every  great  and  intellectual  race  of  the  world  has  pro- 
duced, at  every  period  of  its  career,  an  art  with  some  peculiar  and 
precious  character  about  it,  wholly  unattainable  by  any  other  race, 
and  at  any  other  time ; and  the  intention  of  Providence  concern- 
ing that  art,  is  evidently  that  it  should  all  grow  together  into  one 
mighty  temple  ; the  rough  stones  and  the  smooth  all  finding  their 
place,  and  rising,  day  by  day,  in  richer  and  higher  pinnacles  to 
lieaven. 

Now,  just  fancy  what  a position  the  world,  considered  as  one 
great  workroom — one  great  factory  in  the  form  of  a globe — would 
have  been  in  by  this  time,  if  it  had  in  the  least  understood  this 
duty,  or  been  capable  of  it.  Fancy  what  we  should  have  had 
around  us  now,  if,  instead  of  quarrelling  and  fighting  over  their 
work,  the. nations  had  aided  each  other  in  their  work,  or  if  even 
in  their  conquests,  instead  of  effacing  the  memorials  of  those  they 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


57 


LECT.  II.] 

succeeded  and  subdued,  they  had  guarded  the  spoils  of  their  vic- 
tories. Fancy  what  Europe  would  be  now,  if  the  delicate  statues 
and  temples  of  the  Greeks, — if  the  broad  roads  and  massy  walls 
of  the  Romans, — if  the  noble  and  pathetic  architecture  of  the 
middle  ages,  had  not  been  ground  to  dust  by  mere  human  rage. 
You  talk  of  the  scythe  of  Time,  and  the  tooth  of  Time  : I tell 
you.  Time  is  scytheless  and  toothless ; it  is  we  who  gnaw  like  the 
worm — we  who  smite  like  the  scythe.  It  is  ourselves  who  abolish 
— ourselves  who  consume  : we  are  the  mildew,  and  the  flame,  and 
the  soul  of  man  is  to  its  own  work  as  the  moth,  that  frets  when  it 
cannot  fly,  and  as  the  hidden  flame  that  blasts  where  it  cannot 
illumine.  All  these  lost  treasures  of  human  intellect  have  been 
wholly  destroyed  by  human  industry  of  destruction ; the  marble 
would  have  stood  its  two  thousand  years  as  well  in  the  polished 
statue  as  in  the  Parian  clift';  but  we  men  have  ground  it  to  pow- 
der, and  mixed  it  with  our  own  ashes.  The  walls  and  the  ways 
would  have  stood — it  is  we  who  have  left  not  one  stone  upon  an- 
other, and  restored  its  pathlessness  to  the  desert ; the  great  cathe- 
drals of  old  religion  would  have  stood — it  is  we  who  have  dashed 
down  the  carved  work  with  axes  and  hammers,  and  bid  the 
mountain-grass  bloom  upon  the  pavement,  and  the  sea-winds 
chaunt  in  the  galleries. 

You  will  perhaps  think  all  this  was  somehow  necessary  for  the 
development  of  the  human  race.  I cannot  stay  now  to  dispute 
that,  though  I would  willingly ; but  do  you  think  it  is  still  neces- 
sary for  that  development?  Do  you  think  that  in  this  nineteenth 
century  it  is  still  necessary  for  the  European  nations  to  turn  all 
the  places  where  their  principal  art-treasures  are  into  battle- 
fields ? For  that  is  what  they  are  doing  even  while  I speak  ; the 
great  firm  of  the  world  is  managing  its  business  at  this  moment, 
just  as  it  has  done  in  past  times.  Imagine  what  would  be  the 
thriving  circumstances  of  a manufacturer  of  some  delicate  pro- 
duce— suppose  glass,  or  china — in  whose  workshop  and  exhibition 


58  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

rooms  all  the  workmen  and  clerks  began  fighting  at  least  once  a 
day,  first  blowing  oflf  the  steam,  and  breaking  all  the  machinery 
they  could  reach ; and  then  making  fortresses  of  all  the  cup- 
boards, and  attacking  and  defending  the  show-tables,  the  victori- 
ous party  finally  throwing  everything  they  could  get  hold  of  out 
of  the  window,  by  way  of  showing  their  triumph,  and  the  poor 
manufacturer  picking  up  and  putting  away  at  last  a cup  here  and 
a handle  there.  A fine  prosperous  business  that  would  be,  would 
it  not  ? and  yet  that  is  precisely  the  way  the  great  manufacturing 
firm  of  the  world  carries  on  its  business. 

It  has  so  arranged  its  political  squabbles  for  the  last  six  or  seven 
hundred  years,  that  no  one  of  them  could  be  fought  out  but  in  the 
midst  of  its  most  precious  art ; and  it  so  arranges  them  to  this 
day.  For  example,  if  I were  asked  to  lay  my  finger,  in  a map  of 
the  world,  on  the  spot  of  the  world’s  surface  which  contained  at 
this  moment  the  most  singular  concentration  of  art-teaching  and 
art-treasure,  I should  lay  it  on  the  name  of  the  town  of  Verona. 
Other  cities,  indeed,  contain  more  works  of  carriageable  art,  but 
none  contain  so  much  of  the  glorious  local  art,  and  of  the  springs 
and  sources  of  art,  which  can  by  no  means  be  made  subjects  of 
package  or  porterage,  nor,  I grieve  to  say,  of  salvage.  Verona 
possesses,  in  the  first  place,  not  the  largest,  but  the  most  perfect 
and  intelligible  Roman  amphitheatre  that  exists,  still  unbroken  in 
circle  of  step,  and  strong  in  succession  of  vault  and  arch  : it  con- 
tains minor  Roman  monuments,  gateways,  theatres,  baths,  wrecks 
of  temples,  which  give  the  streets  of  its  suburbs  a character  of 
antiquity  unexampled  elsewhere,  except  in  Rome  itself.  But  it 
contains,  in  the  next  place,  what  Rome  does  not  contain — perfect 
examples  of  the  great  twelfth-century  Lombardic  architecture, 
which  was  the  root  of  all  the  mediaeval  art  of  Italy,  without  which 
no  Giottos,  no  Angelicos,  no  Raphaels  would  have  been  possible ; 
it  contains  that  architecture,  not  in  rude  forms,  but  in  the  most 
perfect  and  loveliest  types  it  ever  attained — contains  those,  not  in 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


59 


LECT.  II.] 

ruins,  nor  in  altered  and  hardly  decipherable  fragments,  but  in 
churches  perfect  from  porch  to  apse,  with  all  their  carving  fresh, 
their  pillars  firm,  their  joints  unloosened.  Besides  these,  it 
includes  examples  of  the  great  thirteenth  and  fourteenth-century 
Gothic  of  Italy,  not  merely  perfect,  but  elsewhere  unrivalled.  At 
Rome,  the  Roman — at  Pisa,  the  Lombard,  architecture  may  be 
seen  in  greater  or  in  equal  nobleness ; but  not  at  Rome,  nor  Pisa, 
nor  Florence,  nor  in  any  city  of  the  world,  is  there  a great  medi- 
aeval Gothic  like  the  Gothic  of  Verona.  Elsewhere,  it  is  either 
less  pure  in  type  or  less  lovely  in  completion  : only  at  Verona  may 
you  see  it  in  the  simplicity  of  its  youthful  power,  and  the  tender- 
ness of  its  accomplished  beauty.  And  Verona  possesses,  in  the 
last  place,  the  loveliest  Renaissance  architecture  of  Italy,  not  dis- 
turbed by  pride,  nor  defiled  by  luxury,  but  rising  in  fair  fulfilment 
of  domestic  service,  serenity  of  effortless  grace,  and  modesty  of 
home  seclusion ; its  richest  work  given  to  the  windows  that  open 
on  the  narrowest  streets  and  most  silent  gardens.  All  this  she 
possesses,  in  the  midst  of  natural  scenery  such  as  assuredly  exists 
nowhere  else  in  the  habitable  globe — a wild  Alpine  river  foaming 
at  her  feet,  from  whose  shores  the  rocks  rise  in  a great  crescent, 
dark  with  cypress,  and  misty  with  olive:  inimitably,  from  before 
her  southern  gates,  the  tufted  plains  of  Italy  sweep  and  fade  in 
golden  light ; around  her,  north  and  west,  the  Alps  crowd  in 
crested  troops,  and  the  winds  of  Benacus  bear  to  her  the  coolness 
of  their  snows. 

And  this  is  the  city — such,  and  possessing  such  things  as  these 
— at  whose  gates  the  decisive  battles  of  Italy  are  fought  continu- 
ally : three  days  her  towers  trembled  with  the  echo  of  the  cannon 
of  Areola ; heaped  pebbles  of  the  Mincio  divide  her  fields  to  this 
hour  with  lines  of  broken  rampart,  whence  the  tide  of  war  rolled 
back  to  Novara ; and  now  on  that  crescent  of  her  eastern  cliffs, 
whence  the  full  moon  used  to  rise  through  the  bars  of  the 
cypresses  in  her  burning  summer  twilights,  touching  with  soft 


00 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OE  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 

increase  of  silver  liglit  tlic  rosy  marbles  of  ber  balconies,  along 
the  ridge  of  that  encompassing  rock,  other  circles  are  increasing 
now,  white  and  pale ; walled  towers  of  cruel  strength,  sable- 
spotted  with  cannon-courses.  I tell  you,  I have  seen,  when  the 
thunderclouds  came  down  on  those  Italian  hills,  and  all  their  crags 
were  dipped  in  the  dark,  terrible  purple,  as  if  the  winepress  of  the 
wu*ath  of  God  had  stained  their  mountain-raiment — I have  seen  the 
hail  fall  in  Italy  till  the  forest  branches  stood  stripped  and  bare  as 
if  blasted  by  the  locust ; but  the  white  hail  never  fell  from  those 
clouds  of  heaven  as  the  black  hail  will  fall  from  the  clouds  of  hell, 
if  ever  one  breath  of  Italian  life  stirs  again  in  the  streets  of 
Verona. 

Sad  as  you  will  feel  this  to  be,  I do  not  say  that  you  can  directly 
prevent  it ; you  cannot  drive  the  Austrians  ont  of  Italy,  nor  pre- 
vent them  from  building  forts  where  they  choose,  but  I do  say,"* 

* The  reader  can  hardly  but  remember  Mrs.  Browning’s  beautiful  appeal 
for  Italy,  made  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  great  Exhibition  of  Art  in 
England : — 

0 Magi  of  the  east  and  of  the  west, 

Your  incense,  gold,  and  m}Trh  are  excellent! — 

^Vliat  gifts  for  Christ,  then,  bring  ye  with  the  rest  ? 

Your  hands  have  worked  well.  Is  your  courage  spent 
In  handwork  only  ? Have  you  nothing  best, 

"W^hich  generous  souls  may  perfect  and  present, 

And  He  shall  thank  the  givers  for  ? no  light 
Of  teaching,  liberal  nations,  for  the  poor, 

Who  sit  in  darkness  when  it  is  not  night  ? 

No  cure  for  wicked  children?  Christ, — no  cure. 

No  help  for  women,  sobbing  out  of  sight 
Because  men  made  the  laws  ? no  brothel-lure 
Burnt  out  by  popular  lightnings?  Hast  thou  found 
No  remedy,  my  England,  for  such  woes? 

No  outlet,  Austria,  for  the  scourged  and  bound, 

No  call  back  for  the  exiled  ? no  repose, 

Bussia,  for  knouted  Poles  worked  under  ground. 


LECT.  II.] 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


61 


that  yon,  and  I,  and  all  of  us,  ought  to  be  both  acting  and  feeling 
with  a full  knowledge  and  understanding  of  these  things,  and  that, 
without  trying  to  excite  revolutions  or  weaken  governments,  we 
may  give  our  own  thoughts  and  help,  so  as  in  a measure  to  prevent 
needless  destruction.  We  should  do  this,  if  we  only  realized  the 
thing  thoroughly.  You  drive  out  day  by  day  through  your  own 
pretty  suburbs,  and  you  think  only  of  making,  with  what  money 
you  have  to  spare,  your  gateways  handsomer,  and  your  carriage- 
drives  wdder — and  your  drawing-rooms  more  splendid,  having  a 
vague  notion  that  you  are  all  the  while  patronizing  and  advancing 
art,  and  you  make  no  effort  to  conceive  the  fact,  that  within  a few 
hours’  journey  of  you,  there  are  gateways  and  drawing-rooms 
which  might  just  as  well  be  yours  as  these,  all  built  already;  gate- 
ways built  by  the  greatest  masters  of  sculpture  that  ever  struck 
marble  ; drawing-rooms  painted  by  Titian  and  Veronese ; and  you 
won’t  accept,  nor  save  these  as  they  are,  but  you  will  rather  fetch 
the  house-painter  from  over  the  way,  and  let  Titian  and  Veronese 
house  the  rats.  “Yes,”  of  course,  you  answer;  “we  want  nice 
houses  here,  not  houses  in  Verona.  What  should  we  do  with 
houses  in  Verona?”  And  I answer,  do  precisely  what  you  do 
wuth  the  most  expensive  part  of  your  possessions  here  : take  pride 
in  them — only  a noble  pride.  You  know  w^ell,  when  you  examine 

And  gentle  ladies  bleached  among  the  snows  ? 

No  mercy  for  the  slave,  America  ? 

No  hope  for  Rome,  free  France,  chivalric  France  ? 

Alas,  great  nations  have  great  shames,  I say. 

No  pity,  0 world!  no  tender  utterance 
Of  benediction,  and  prayers  stretclied  this  way 
For  poor  Italia,  baffled  by  mischance  ? 

0 gracious  nations,  give  some  ear  to  me ! 

You  all  go  to  your  Fair,  and  I am  one 

Who  at  the  roadside  of  humanity 

Beseech  your  alms, — God’s  justice  to  be  done. 

So  prosper! 


62  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

your  own  liearts,  that  the  greater  part  of  the  sums  you  spend  on 
possessions  are  spent  for  pride.  Why  are  your  carriages  nicely 
painted  and  finished  outside  ? You  don’t  see  the  outsides  as  you 
sit  in  them — the  outsides  are  for  other  people  to  see.  Why  are 
your  exteriors  of  houses  so  well  finished,  your  furniture  so  polished 
and  costly,  hut  for  other  people  to  see  ? You  are  just  as  comfort- 
able yourselves,  writing  on  your  old  friend  of  a desk,  with  the 
white  cloudings  in  his  leather,  and  using  the  light  of  a window 
which  is  nothing  but  a hole  in  the  brick  wall.  And  all  that  is 
desirable  to  be  done  in  this  matter,  is  merely  to  take  pride  in  pre- 
serving great  art,  instead  of  in  producing  mean  art ; pride  in  the 
possession  of  precious  and  enduring  things,  a little  way  ofi*,  instead 
of  slight  and  perishing  things  near  at  hand.  You  know,  in  old 
English  times,  our  kings  liked  to  have  lordships  and  dukedoms 
abroad,  and  why  should  not  you,  merchant  princes,  like  to  have 
lordships  and  estates  abroad?  Believe  me,  rightly  understood, 
it  would  be  a prouder,  and  in  the  full  sense  of  our  English 
word,  more  “respectable”  thing  to  be  lord  of  a palace  at  Ve- 
rona, or  of  a cloister  full  of  frescos  at  Florence,  than  to  have  a 
file  of  servants  dressed  in  the  finest  liveries  that  ever  tailor 
stitched,  as  long  as  would  reach  from  here  to  Bolton : — yes,  and  a 
prouder  thing  to  send  people  to  travel  in  Italy,  who  would  have 
to  say  every  now  and  then,  of  some  fair  piece  of  art,  “ Ah  ! this 
was  kept  here  for  us  by  the  good  people  of  Manchester,”  than  to 
bring  them  travelling  all  the  way  here,  exclaiming  of  your  various 
art  treasures,  “These  were  brought  here  for  us  (not  altogether 
without  harm)  by  the  good  people  of  Manchester.”  “Ah!”  but 
you  say,  “the  Art  Treasures  Exhibition  will  pay;  but  Veronese 
palaces  won’t.”  Pardon  me.  They  would  pay,  less  directly,  but 
far  more  richly.  Do  you  suppose  it  is  in  the  long  run  good  for 
Manchester,  or  good  for  England,  that  the  Continent  should  be  in 
the  state  it  is?  Do  you  think  the  perpetual  fear  of  revolution,  or 
the  perpetual  repression  of  thought  and  energy  that  clouds  and 


LECT.  II.] 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


G3 


encumbers  the  nations  of  Europe,  is  eventually  profitable  for  us  ? 
Were  we  any  the  better  of  the  course  of  affairs  in  ’48 ; or  has  the 
stabling  of  the  dragoon  horses  in  the  great  houses  of  Italy,  any 
distinct  effect  in  the  promotion  of  the  cotton-trade  ? Not  so.  But 
every  stake  that  you  could  hold  in  the  stability  of  the  Continent, 
and  every  effort  that  you  could  make  to  give  example  of  English 
habits  and  principles  on  the  Continent,  and  every  kind  deed  that 
you  could  do  in  relieving  distress  and  preventing  despair  on  the 
Continent,  would  have  tenfold  reaction  on  the  prosperity  of 
England,  and  open  and  urge,  in  a thousand  unforeseen  directions, 
the  sluices  of  commerce  and  the  springs  of  industry. 

I could  press,  if  I chose,  both  these  motives  upon  you,  of  pride 
and  self-interest,  with  more  force,  but  these  are  not  motives  which 
ought  to  be  urged  upon  you  at  all.  The  only  motive  that  I ought 
to  put  before  you  is  simply  that  it  would  be  right  to  do  this ; that 
the  holding  of  property  abroad,  and  the  personal  efforts  of  English- 
men to  redeem  the  condition*  of  foreign  nations,  are  among  the 
most  direct  pieces  of  duty  which  our  wealth  renders  incumbent 
upon  us.  I do  not — and  in  all  truth  and  deliberateness  I say  this 
— I do  not  know  anything  more  ludicrous  among  the  self-decep- 
tions of  well-meaning  people  than  their  notion  of  patriotism,  as 
requiring  them  to  limit  their  efforts  to  the  good  of  their  own 
country ; — the  notion  that  charity  is  a geographical  virtue,  and 
that  what  it  is  holy  and  righteous  to  do  for  people  on  one  bank 
of  a river,  it  is  quite  improper  and  unnatural  to  do  for  people  on 
the  other.  It  will  be  a wonderful  thing,  some  day  or  other,  for 
the  Christian  world  to  remember,  that  it  went  on  thinking  for  two 
thousand  years  that  neighbours  were  neighbours  at  Jerusalem,  but 
not  at  Jericho;  a wonderful  thing  for  us  English  to  reflect,  in 
after-years,  how  long  it  was  before  we  could  shake  hands  with 
anybody  across  that  shallow  salt  wash,  which  the  very  chalk-dust 
of  its  two  shores  whitens  from  Folkstone  to  Ambleteuse. 

Nor  ought  the  motive  of  gratitude,  as  well  as  that  of  Mercy,  to 


64 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


be  witlioiit  its  influence  on  you,  who  have  been  the  first  to  ask  to 
see,  and  tlie  first  to  show  to  us,  the  treasures  which  this  poor  lost 
Italy  has  given  to  England.  Remember  all  these  things  that 
delight  you  here  were  hers — hers  either  in  fact  or  in  teaching ; 
hers,  in  fact,  are  all  the  most  powerful  and  most  touching  paintings 
of  old  time  that  now  glow  upon  your  walls ; hers  in  teaching  are 
all  the  best  and  greatest  of  descendant  souls — your  Reynolds  and 
your  Gainsborough  never  could  have  painted  but  for  Venice;  and 
the  energies  which  have  given  the  only  true  life  to  your  existing 
art  were  first  stirred  by  voices  of  the  dead,  that  haunted  the 
Sacred  Field  of  Pisa. 

Well,  all  these  motives  for  some  definite  course  of  action  on 
our  part  towards  foreign  countries  rest  upon  very  serious  facts; 
too  serious,  perhaps  you  will  think,  to  be  interfered  with ; for  we 
are  all  of  us  in  the  habit  of  leaving  great  things  alone,  as  if  Pro- 
vidence would  mind  them,  and  attending  ourselves  only  to  little 
things  which  we  know,  practically.  Providence  doesn’t  mind  unless 
we  do.  We  are  ready  enough  to  give  care  to  the  growing  of 
pines  and  lettuces,  knowing  that  they  don’t  grow  Providentially 
sweet  or  large  unless  we  look  after  them;  but  we  don’t  give 
any  care  to  the  good  of  Italy  or  Germany,  because  we  think  that 
they  will  grow  Providentially  happy  without  any  of  our  med- 
dling. 

Let  us  leave  the  great  things,  then,  and  think  of  little  things; 
not  of  the  destruction  of  whole  provinces  in  war,  which  it  may 
not  be  any  business  of  ours  to  prevent ; but  of  the  destruction  of 
poor  little  pictures  in  peace,  from  which  it  surely  would  not  be 
much  out  of  our  way  to  save  them.  You  know  I said,  just  now, 
we  were  all  of  us  engaged  in  pulling  pictures  to  pieces  by  deputy, 
and  you  did  not  believe  me.  Consider,  then,  this  similitude  of 
ourselves.  Suppose  you  saw  (as  I doubt  not  you  often  do  see)  a 
prudent  and  kind  young  lady  sitting  at  work,  in  the  corner  of  a 
(juict  room,  knitting  comforters  for  her  cousins,  and  that  just  out- 


LECT.  II.]  III.  ACCUMULATION.  65 

side,  in  the  hall,  you  saw  a cat  and  her  kittens  at  play  among  the 
family  pictures ; amusing  themselves  especially  with  the  best 
Vandykes,  by  getting  on  the  tops  of  the  frames,  and  then  scram- 
bling down  the  canvasses  by  their  claws  ; and  on  some  one’s 
informing  the  young  lady  of  these  proceedings  of  the  cat  and 
kittens,  suppose  she  answered  that  it  wasn’t  her  cat,  but  her 
sister’s,  and  the  pictures  weren’t  hers,  but  her  uncle’s,  and  she 
couldn’t  leave  her  work,  for  she  had  to  make  so  many  pairs  of 
comforters  before  dinner.  Would  you  not  say  that  the  prudent 
and  kind  young  lady  was,  on  the  whole,  answerable  for  the  addi- 
tional touches  of  claw  on  the  Vandykes?  Now',  that  is  precisely 
what  w'e  prudent  and  kind  English  are  doing,  only  on  a larger 
scale.  Here  we  sit  in  Manchester,  hard  at  work,  very  properly, 
making  comforters  for  our  cousins  all  over  the  world.  Just  out- 
side there  in  the  hall — that  beautiful  marble  hall  of  Italy — the 
cats  and  kittens  and  monkeys  are  at  play  among  the  pictures  : I 

assure  you,  in  the  course  of  the  fifteen  years  in  which  I have 
been  w'orking  in  those  places  in  which  the  most  precious  remnants 
of  European  art  exist,  a sensation,  whether  I w^ould  or  no,  w'as 
gradually  made  distinct  and  deep  in  my  mind,  that  I was  living 
arid  working  in  the  midst  of  a den  of  monkeys ; — sometimes  ami- 
able and  affectionate  monkeys,  with  all  manner  of  winning  ways 
and  kind  intentions ; — more  frequently  selfish  and  malicious  mon- 
keys, but,  whatever  their  disposition,  squabbling  continually  about 
nuts,  and  the  best  places  on  the  barren  sticks  of  trees;  and 
that  all  this  monkeys’  den  was  filled,  by  mischance,  with  precious 
pictures,  and  the  witty  and  wulful  beasts  were  always  wrapping 
themselves  up  and  going  to  sleep  in  pictures,  or  tearing  holes  in 
them  to  grin  through;  or  tasting  them  and  spitting  them  out 
again,  or  twusting  them  up  into  ropes  and  making  swungs  of  them  ; 
and  that  sometimes  only,  by  watching  one’s  opportunity,  and  bear- 
ing a scratch  or  a bite,  one  could  rescue  the  corner  of  a Tin- 
toret,  or  Paul  Veronese,  and  push  it  through  the  bars  into  a 


66 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


place  of  safety.  Literally,  I assure  you,  tliis  was,  and  this  is,  the 
fixed  impression  on  my  mind  of  the  state  of  matters  in  Italy. 
And  see  how.  The  professors  of  art  in  Italy,  having  long  fol- 
lowed a method  of  study  peculiar  to  themselves,  have  at  last 
arrived  at  a form  of  art  peculiar  to  themselves;  very  different 
from  that  which  was  arrived  at  by  Correggio  and  Titian.  Natu- 
rally, the  professors  like  their  own  form  the  best;  and,  as  the 
old  pictures  are  generally  not  so  startling  to  the  eye  as  the 
modern  ones,  the  dukes  and  counts  who  possess  them,  and  who 
like  to  see  their  galleries  look  new  and  fine  (and  are  persuaded 
also  that  a celebrated  chef-d’oeuvre  ought  always  to  catch  the  eye 
at  a quarter  of  a mile  off),  believe  the  professors  who  tell  them 
their  sober  pictures  are  quite  faded,  and  good  for  nothing,  and 
should  all  be  brought  bright  again;  and  accordingly,  give  the 
sober  pictures  to  the  professors,  to  be  put  right  by  rules  of  art. 
Then,  the  professors  repaint  the  old  pictures  in  all  the  princi- 
pal places,  leaving  perhaps  only  a bit  of  background  to  set  off 
their  own  work.  And  thus  the  professors  come  to  be  generally 
figured  in  my  mind,  as  the  monkeys  who  tear  holes  in  the 
pictures,  to  grin  through.  Then  the  picture-dealers,  who  live  by 
the  pictures,  cannot  sell  them  to  the  English  in  their  old  and  pure 
state ; all  the  good  work  must  be  covered  with  new  paint,  and  var- 
nished so  as  to  look  like  one  of  the  professorial  pictures  in  the 
great  gallery,  before  it  is  saleable.  And  thus  the  dealers  come  to 
be  imaged,  in  my  mind,  as  the  monkeys  who  make  ropes  of 
the  pictures,  to  swing  by.  Then,  every  now  and  then,  in  some  old 
stable,  or  wine-cellar,  or  timber-shed,  behind  some  forgotten  vats 
or  faggots,  somebody  finds  a fresco  of  Perugino’s  or  Giotto’s, 
but  doesn’t  think  much  of  it,  and  has  no  idea  of  having  people 
coming  into  his  cellar,  or  being  obliged  to  move  his  faggots;  and 
so  he  whitewashes  the  fresco,  and  puts  the  faggots  back  again ; 
and  these  kind  of  persons,  therefore,  come  generally  to  be  imaged 
in  my  mind,  as  the  monkeys  who  taste  the  pictures,  and  spit 


LECT.  II.] 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


61 


them  out,  not  finding  them  nice.  While,  finally,  the  squabbling 
for  nuts  and  apples  (called  in  Italy  “ bella  liberta  ”)  goes  on  all 
day  long. 

Now,  all  this  might  soon  be  put  an  end  to,  if  we  English,  who 
are  so  fond  of  travelling  in  the  body,  would  also  travel  a little  in 
soul : We  think  it  a great  triumph  to  get  our  packages  and  our 
persons  carried  at  a fast  pace,  but  we  never  take  the  slightest 
trouble  to  put  any  pace  into  our  perceptions ; we  stay  usually  at 
home  in  thought,  or  if  we  ever  mentally  see  the  world,  it  is  at  the 
old  stage-coach  or  waggon  rate.  Do  but  consider  what  an  odd 
sight  it  would  be,  if  it  were  only  quite  clear  to  you  how  things  are 
really  going  on — how,  here  in  England,  we  are  making  enormous 
and  expensive  efibrts  to  produce  new  art  of  all  kinds,  knowing  and 
confessing  all  the  while  that  the  greater  part  of  it  is  bad,  but 
struggling  still  to  produce  new  patterns  of  wall-papers,  and  new 
shapes  of  tea-pots,  and  new  pictures,  and  statues,  and  architecture ; 
and  pluming  and  cackling  if  ever  a tea-pot  or  a picture  has  the 
least  good  in  it ; — all  the  while  taking  no  thought  whatever  of  the 
best  possible  pictures,  and  statues,  and  wall-patterns  already  in 
existence,  which  require  nothing  but  to  be , taken  common  care  of, 
and  kept  from  damp  and  dust : but  we  let  the  walls  fall  that 
Giotto  patterned,  and  the  canvasses  rot  that  Tintoret  painted,  and 
the  architecture  be  dashed  to  pieces  that  St.  Louis  built,  while  we 
are  furnishing  our  drawing-rooms  with  prize  upholstery,  and 
writing  accounts  of  our  handsome  warehouses  to  the  country 
papers.  Don’t  think  I use  my  words  vaguely  or  generally : I 
speak  of  literal  facts.  Giotto’s  frescos  at  Assisi  are  perishing  at 
this  moment  for  want  of  decent  care  ; Tintoret’s  pictures  in  San 
Sebastian  at  Venice,  are  at  this  instant  rotting  piecemeal  into  grey 
rags  ; St.  Louis’s  chapel,  at  Carcassonne,  is  at  this  moment  lying 
in  shattered  fragments  in  the  market-place.  And  here  we  are  all 
cawing  and  crowing,  poor  little  half-fledged  daws  as  we  are,  about 
the  pretty  sticks  and  wool  in  our  own  nests.  There’s  hardly 


C8 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


LECT.  II. 


a day  passes,  when  I am  at  home,  but  I get  a letter  from  some 
well-meaning  country  clergyman,  deeply  anxious  about  the  state 
of  his  parish  church,  and  breaking  his  heart  to  get  money  together 
that  he  may  hold  up  some  wretched  remnant  of  Tudor  tracery, 
with  one  niche  in  the  corner  and  no  statue — when  all  the  while 
the  mightiest  piles  of  religious  architecture  and  sculpture  that  ever 
the  w'orld  saw  are  being  blasted  and  withered  away,  without  one 
glance  of  pity  or  regret.  The  country  clergyman  does  not  care 
for  them — he  has  a sea-sick  imagination  that  cannot  cross  channel. 
What  is  it  to  him,  if  the  angels  of  Assisi  fade  from  its  vaults,  or 
the  queens  and  kings  of  Chartres  fall  from  their  pedestals  ? They 
are  not  in  his  parish. 

“ What !”  you  will  say,  “ are  we  not  to  produce  any  new  art, 
nor  take  care  of  our  parish  churches?”  “No,  certainly  not,  until 
you  have  taken  proper  care  of  the  art  you  have  got  already,  and 
of  the  best  churches  out  of  the  parish.  Your  first  and  proper 
standing  is  not  as  churchwardens  and  parish  overseers,  in  an  Eng- 
lish county,  but  as  members  of  the  great  Christian  community  of 
Europe.  And  as  members  of  that  community  (in  which  alone, 
observe,  pure  and  precious  ancient  art  exists,  for  there  is  none  in 
America,  none  in  Asia,  none  in  Africa),  you  conduct  yourselves 
pi’ecisely  as  a manufacturer  would,  who  attended  to  his  looms,  but 
left  his  warehouse  without  a roof.  The  rain  floods  your  ware- 
house, the  rats  frolic  in  it,  the  spiders  spin  in  it,  the  choughs  build 
ill  it,  the  wall-plague  frets  and  festers  in  it,  and  still  you  keep 
weave,  weave,  weaving  at  your  wretched  webs,  and  thinking  you 
ai-c  growing  rich,  while  more  is  gnawed  out  of  your  warehouse  in 
an  hour  than  you  can  weave  in  a twelvemonth. 

Even  this  similitude  is  not  absurd  enough  to  set  us  rightly  forth. 
The  weaver  would,  or  might,  at  least,  hope  that  his  new  woof  was 
as  stout  as  the  old  ones,  and  that,  therefore,  in  spite  of  rain  and 
ravage,  he  would  have  something  to  wrap  himself  in  when  he 
needed  it.  But  our  webs  rot  as  we  spin.  The  very  fact  that  we 


LECT.  II.] 


III.  ACCUMULATION. 


69 


despise  the  great  art  of  the  past  shows  that  we  cannot  produce 
great  art  now.  If  we  could  do  it,  we  should  love  it  when  we  saw 
it  done — if  'sve  really  cared  for  it,  we  should  recognise  it  and  keep 
it ; but  we  don’t  care  for  it.  It  is  not  art  that  we  want ; it  is 
amusement,  gratification  of  pride,  present  gain — anything  in  the 
world  but  art:  let  it  rot,  we  shall  always  have  enough  to  talk 
about  and  hang  over  our  sideboards. 

You  w'ill  (I  hope)  finally  ask  me  what  is  the  outcome  of  all  this, 
practicable  to-morrow  morning  by  us  who  are  sitting  here  ? These 
are  the  main  practical  outcomes  of  it : In  the  first  place,  don’t 
grumble  when  you  hear  of  a new  picture  being  bought  by  Govern- 
ment at  a large  price.  There  are  many  pictures  in  Europe  now 
in  danger  of  destruction  which  are,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 
priceless ; the  proper  price  is  simply  that  which  it  is  necessary  to 
give  to  get  and  to  save  them.  If  you  can  get  them  for  fifty 
pounds,  do ; if  not  for  less  than  a hundred,  do  ; if  not  for  less  than 
five  thousand,  do ; if  not  for  less  than  twenty  thousand,  do ; never 
mind  being  imposed  upon : there  is  nothing  disgraceful  in  being 
imposed  upon ; the  only  disgrace  is  in  imposing ; and  you  can’t 
in  general  get  anything  much  worth  having,  in  the  way  of  Conti- 
nental art,  but  it  must  be  with  the  help  or  connivance  of  numbers 
of  people,  who,  indeed,  ought  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter,  but  who  practically  have,  and  always  will  have,  everything 
to  do  with  it ; and  if  you  don’t  choose  to  submit  to  be  cheated  by 
them  out  of  a ducat  here  and  a zecchin  there,  you  will  be  cheated 
by  them  out  of  your  picture ; and  whether  you  are  most  imposed 
upon  in  losing  that,  or  the  zecchins,  I think  I may  leave  you  to 
judge ; though  I know  there  are  many  political  economists,  who 
would  rather  leave  a bag  of  gold  on  a garret-table,  than  give  a 
porter  sixpence  extra  to  carry  it  doAvnstairs. 

Tliat,  then,  is  the  first  practical  outcome  of  the  matter.  Never 
gnimble,  but  be  glad  when  you  hear  of  a new  picture  being  bought 
at  a large  price.  In  the  long  run,  the  dearest  pictures  are  always 


10  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART  [lECT.  II. 

the  best  bargains ; and,  I repeat  (for  else  yon  might  think  I said 
it  in  mere  hurry  of  talk,  and  not  deliberately),  there  are  some 
pictures  which  are  without  price.  You  should  stand,  nationally, 
at  the  edge  of  Dover  cliffs — Shakespeare’s — and  wave  blank 
cheques  in  the  eyes  of  the  nations  on  the  other  side  of  the  sea, 
freely  offered,  for  such  and  snieh  canvasses  of  theirs. 

Then  the  next  practical  outcome  of  it  is — Never  buy  a copy  of 
a picture,  under  any  circumstances  whatever.  All  copies  are  bad  ; 
because  no  painter  who  is  worth  a straw  ever  will  copy.  He  will 
make  a study  of  a picture  he  likes,  for  his  own  use,  in  his  own 
way ; but  he  won’t  and  can’t  copy ; whenever  you  buy  a copy, 
you  buy  so  much  misunderstanding  of  the  original,  and  encourage 
a dull  person  in  following  a business  he  is  not  fit  for,  besides 
increasing  ultimately  chances  of  mistake  and  imposture,  and  far- 
thering, as  directly  as  money  can  farther,  the  cause  of  ignorance 
in  all  directions.  You  may,  in  fact,  consider  yourself  as  having 
purchased  a certain  quantity  of  mistakes ; and,  according  to  your 
power,  being  engaged  in  disseminating  them. 

I do  not  mean,  however,  that  copies  should  never  be  made. 
A certain  number  of  dull  persons  should  always  be  employed  by 
a Government  in  making  the  most  accurate -copies  possible  of  all 
good  pictures  ; these  copies,  though  artistieally  valueless,  would  be 
hictorically  and  documentarily  valuable,  in  the  event  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  original  picture.  The  studies  also  made  by  great  artists 
for  their  own  use,  should  be  sought  after  with  the  greatest  eager- 
ness; they  are  often  to  be  bought  cheap  ; and  in  eonneetion  with 
mechanical  copies,  would  become  veiy  precious;  tracings  from 
fi’cscos  and  other  large  works  are  all  of  great  value ; for  though  a 
tracing  is  liable  to  just  as  many  mistakes  as  a copy,  the  mistakes 
in  a tracing  are  of  one  kind  only,  which  may  be  allowed  for,  but 
the  mistakes  of  a common  copyist  are  of  all  conceivable  kinds : 
finally,  engravings,  in  so  far  as  they  convey  certain  facts  about  the 
pictures,  are  often  serviceable  and  valuable.  I can’t,  of  course, 


LECT.  II.] 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


11 


enter  into  details  in  these  matters  just  now ; only  this  main  piece 
of  advice  I can  safely  give  you — never  to  buy  copies  of  pictures 
(for  your  private  possession)  which  pretend  to  give  a facsimile  that 
shall  be  in  any  wise  representative  of,  or  equal  to,  the  original. 
Whenever  you  do  so,  you  are  only  lowering  your  taste,  and  wast- 
ing your  money.  And  if  you  are  generous  and  wise,  you  will  be 
ready  rather  to  subscribe  as  much  as  you  would  have  given  for  a 
copy  of  a great  picture,  towards  its  purchase,  or  the  purchase  of 
some  other  like  it,  by  the  nation.  There  ought  to  be  a great 
National  Society  instituted  for  the  purchase  of  pictures ; presenting 
them  to  the  various  galleries  in  our  gi’eat  cities,  and  watching 
there  over  their  safety : but  in  the  meantime,  you  can  always  act 
safely  and  beneficially  by  merely  allowing  your  artist  friends  to 
buy  pictures  for  you,  when  they  see  good  ones.  Never  buy  for 
yourselves,  nor  go  to  the  foreign  dealers ; but  let  any  painter  whom 
you  know  be  entrusted,  when  he  finds  a neglected  old  picture  in 
an  old  house,  to  try  if  he  cannot  get  it  for  you ; then,  if  you  like 
it,  keep  it ; if  not,  send  it  to  the  hammer,  and  you  will  find  that 
you  do  not  lose  money  on  pictures  so  purchased. 

And  the  third  and  chief  practical  outcome  of  the  matter  is  this 
general  one  : Wherever  you  go,  whatever  you  do,  act  more  for 
'preservation  and  less  for  production.  I assure  you,  the  world  is, 
generally  speaking,  in  calamitous  disorder,  and  just  because  you 
have  managed  to  thrust  some  of  the  lumber  aside,  and  get  an 
available  corner  for  yourselves,  you  think  you  should  do  nothing 
but  sit  spinning  in  it  all  day  long — while,  as  householders  and 
economists,  your  first  thought  and  effort  should  be,  to  set  things 
more  square  all  about  you.  Try  to  set  the  ground  floors  in  order, 
and  get  the  rottenness  out  of  your  granaries.  Then  sit  and  spin, 
but  not  till  then. 

IV.  Distribution. — And  now,  lastly,  we  come  to  the  fourth 
great  head  of  our  inquiry,  the  question  of  the  wise  distribution  of 


72  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

the  art  we  have  gathered  and  preserved.  It  must  be  evident  to  us, 
at  a moment’s  thought,  that  the  way  in  which  works  of  art  are 
on  the  whole  most  useful  to  the  nation  to  which  they  belong, 
must  be  by  their  collection  in  public  galleries,  supposing  those 
galleries  properly  managed.  But  there  is  one  disadvantage 
attached  necessarily  to  gallery  exhibition,  namely,  the  extent  of 
mischief  which  may  be  done  by  one  foolish  curator.  As  long  as 
the  pictures  which  form  the  national  wealth  are  disposed  in  private 
collections,  the  chance  is  always  that  the  people  who  buy  them  will 
be  just  the  people  who  are  fond  of  them  ; and  that  the  sense  of 
exchangeable  value  in  the  commodity  they  possess,  will  induce 
them,  even  if  they  do  not  esteem  it  themselves,  to  take  such  care 
of  it  as  will  preserve  its  value  undiminished.  At  all  events,  so 
long  as  works  of  art  are  scattered  throughout  the  nation,  no  uni- 
versal destruction  of  them  is  possible ; a certain  average  only  are 
lost  by  accidents  from  time  to  time.  But  when  they  are  once 
collected  in  a large  public  gallery,  if  the  appointment  of  curator 
becomes  in  any  way  a matter  of  formality,  or  the  post  is  so  lucra- 
tive as  to  be  disputed  by  place-hunters,  let  but  one  foolish  or  care- 
less person  get  possession  of  it,  and  perhaps  you  may  have  all  your 
fine  pictures  repainted,  and  the  national  property  destroyed,  in  a 
month.  That  is  actually  the  case  at  this  moment  in  several  great 
foreign  galleries.  They  arc  the  places  of  execution  of  pictures  : 
over  their  doors  you  only  want  the  Dantesque  inscription,  “ Las- 
ciatc  ogni  speranza,  voi  die  cutrate.’’ 

Supposing,  however,  this  danger  properly  guarded  against,  as  it 
would  be  always  by  a nation  which  cither  knew  the  value,  or 
understood  the  meaning,  of  painting,*  arrangement  in  a public 
gallery  is  the  safest,  as  well  as  the  most  serviceable,  method  of 

* It  would  be  a great  point  gained  towards  the  preservation  of  pictures  if 
il  were  made  a rule  that  at  every  operation  they  underwent,  the  exact  spots 
in  which  they  have  been  re-painted  should  bo  recorded  in  writing. 


LECT.  II.] 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


13 


exliibitiiig  pictures  ; and  it  is  the  only  mode  in  which  their  histori- 
cal value  can  be  brought  out,  and  their  historical  meaning  made 
clear.  But  great  good  is  also  to  be  done  by  encouraging  the  pri- 
vate possession  of  pictures ; partly  as  a means  of  study,  (much 
more  being  always  discovered  in  any  work  of  art  by  a person  who 
has  it  perpetually  near  him  than  by  one  who  only  sees  it  from 
time  to  time,)  and  also  as  a means  of  refining  the  habits  and 
touchino;  the  hearts  of  the  masses  of  the  nation  in  their  domestic 
life. 

For  these  last  purposes  the  most  serviceable  art  is  the  living  art 
of  the  time ; the  particular  tastes  of  the  people  will  be  best  met, 
and  their  particular  ignorances  best  corrected,  by  painters  labour- 
ing in  the  midst  of  them,  more  or  less  guided  to  the  knowledge  of 
what  is  wanted  by  the  degree  of  sympathy  with  which  their  work 
is  received.  So  then,  generally,  it  should  be  the  object  of  go- 
vernment, and  of  all  patrons  of  art,  to  collect,  as  far  as  may  be, 
the  works  of  dead  masters  in  public  galleries,  arranging  them  so 
as  to  illustrate  the  history  of  nations,  and  the  progress  and  influ- 
ence of  their  arts ; and  to  encourage  the  private  possession  of  the 
works  of  Uvinr/  masters.  And  the  first  and  best  way  in  which  to 
encourage  such  private  possession  is,  of  course,  to  keep  down  the 
price  of  them  as  far  as  you  can. 

I hope  there  are  not  a great  many  painters  in  the  room;  if 
there  are,  I entreat  their  patience  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour : 
if  they  will  bear  with  me  for  so  long,  I hope  they  will  not,  finally, 
be  offended  by  what  I am  going  to  say. 

I repeat,  trusting  to  their  indulgence  in  the  interim,  that  the 
first  object  of  our  national  economy,  as  respects  the  distribution 
of  modern  art,  should  be  steadily  and  rationally  to  limit  its  prices, 
since  by  doing  so,  you  will  produce  two  effects ; you  will  make 
the  painters  produce  more  pictures,  two  or  three  instead  of  one, 
if  they  wish  to  make  money  ; and  you  will,  by  bringing  good 

pictures  within  the  reach  of  people  of  moderate  income,  excite  the 

4 


74 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART» 


[lECT.  II. 


general  interest  of  the  nation  in  them,  increase  a thousandfold  the 
demand  for  the  commodity,  and  therefore  its  wholesome  and 
natural  production. 

I know  how  many  objections  must  arise  in  your  minds  at  this 
moment  to  what  I say ; but  you  must  be  aware  that  it  is  not 
possible  for  me  in  an  hour  to  explain  all  the  moral  and  commercial 
bearings  of  such  a principle  as  this.  Only,  believe  me,  I do  not 
speak  lightly  ; I think  I have  considered  all  the  objections  which 
could  be  rationally  brought  forward,  though  I have  time  at  present 
only  to  glance  at  the  main  one,  namely,  the  idea  that  the  high 
i^rices  paid  for  modern  pictures  are  either  honourable,  or  service- 
able, to  the  painter.  So  far  from  this  being  so,  I believe  one  of 
the  principal  obstacles  to  the  progress  of  modern  art  to  be  the 
high  prices  given  for  good  modern  pictures.  For  observe  first  the 
action  of  this  high  remuneration  on  the  artist’s  mind.  If  he 
“ gets  on,”  as  it  is  called,  catches  the  eye  of  the  public,  and 
especially  of  the  public  of  the  upper  classes,  there  is  hardly  any 
limit  to  the  fortune  he  may  acquire ; so  that,  in  his  early  years, 
his  mind  is  naturally  led  to  dwell  on  this  worldly  and  wealthy 
eminence  as  the  main  thing  to  be  reached  by  his  art;  if  he  finds 
that  lie  is  not  gradually  rising  towards  it,  he  thinks  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  in  his  work ; or,  if  he  is  too  proud  to  think  that, 
still  the  bribe  of  Avealth  and  honour  warps  him  from  his  honest 
labour  into  efforts  to  attract  attention;  and  he  gradually  loses 
lioth  his  power  of  mind  and  his  rectitude  of  purpose.  This, 
according  to  the  degTce  of  avarice  or  ambition  which  exists  in 
any  painter’s  mind,  is  the  necessary  influence  upon  him  of  the 
hope  of  great  wealth  and  reputation.  But  the  harm  is  still 
greater,  in  so  far  as  the  possibility  of  attaining  fortune  of  this  kind 
tempts  people  continually  to  become  painters  who  have  no  real 
gift  for  the  work;  and  on  whom  these  motives  of  mere  worldly 
interest  have  exclusive  influence; — men  who  torment  and  abuse 
the  patient  workers,  eclipse  or  thrust  aside  all  delicate  and  good 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


75 


LECT.  II.] 

pictures  by  their  own  gaudy  and  coarse  ones,  corrupt  the  taste  of 
the  public,  and  do  the  greatest  amount  of  mischief  to  the  schools 
of  art  in  their  day  which  it  is  possible  for  their  capacities  to  effect ; 
and  it  is  quite  wonderful  how  much  mischief  may  be  done  even 
by  small  capacity.  If  you  could  by  any  means  succeed  in  keep- 
ing the  prices  of  pictures  down,  you  would  throw  all  these  dis- 
turbers out  of  the  way  at  once. 

You  may  perhaps  think  that  this  severe  treatment  would  do 
more  harm  than  good,  by  withdrawing  the  wholesome  element  of 
emulation,  and  giving  no  stimulus  to  exertion ; but  I am  sorry  to 
say  that  artists  will  always  be  sufficiently  jealous  of  one  another, 
whether  you  pay  them  large  or  low  prices ; and  as  for  stimulus  to 
exertion,  believe  me,  no  good  work  in  this  world  was  ever  done 
for  money,  nor  while  the  slightest  thought  of  money  affected  the 
painter’s  mind.  Whatever  idea  of  pecuniary  value  enters  into  his 
thoughts  as  he  works,  will,  in  proportion  to  the  distinctness  of  its 
presence,  shorten  his  power.  A real  painter  will  work  for  you 
exquisitely,  if  you  give  him,  as  I told  you  a little  while  ago,  bread 
and  water  and  salt ; and  a bad  painter  will  work  badly  and 
liastily,  though  you  give  him  a palace  to  live  in,  and  a princedom 
to  live  upon.  Turner  got,  in  his  earlier  years,  half-a-crown  a day 
and  his  supper  (not  bad  pay,  neither) ; and  he  learned  to  paint 
upon  that.  And  I believe  that  there  is  no  chance  of  art’s  truly 
flourishing  in  any  country,  until  you  make  it  a simple  and  plain 
business,  providing  its  masters  with  an  easy  competence,  but  rarely 
with  anything  more.  And  I say  this,  not  because  I despise  the 
great  painter,  but  because  I honour  him ; and  I should  no  more 
think  of  adding  to  his  respectability  or  happiness  by  giving  him 
riches,  than,  if  Shakspeare  or  Milton  were  alive,  I should  think 
we  added  to  their  respectability,  or  were  likely  to  get  better  work 
from  them,  by  making  them  millionaires. 

But,  observe,  it  is  not  only  the  painter  himself  whom  you  injure, 
by  giving  him  too  high  prices ; you  injure  all  the  inferior  painters 


76  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

of  the  day.  If  they  are  modest,  they  will  be  discouraged  and 
depressed  by  the  feeling  that  their  doings  are  worth  so  little,  com- 
paratively, in  your  eyes ; — if  proud,  all  their  worst  passions  will  be 
aroused,  and  the  insult  or  opprobrium  which  they  will  try  to  cast 
on  their  successful  rival  will  not  only  afflict  and  wound  him,  but 
at  last  sour  and  harden  him : he  cannot  pass  thraugh  such  a trial 
without  grievous  harm. 

That,  then,  is  the  effect  you  produce  on  the^  painter  of  mark, 
and  on  the  inferior  ones  of  his  own  standing.  But  you  do  worse 
than  this;  you  deprive  yourselves,  by  what  you  give  for  the 
fashionable  picture,  of  the  power  of  helping  the  younger  men  who 
are  coming  forward.  Be  it  admitted,  for  argument’s  sake,  if  you 
are  not  convinced  by  what  I have  said,  that  you  do  no  harm  to 
the  gi-eat  man  by  paying  him  well ; yet  certainly  you  do  him  no 
special  good.  His  reputation  is  established,  and  his  fortune  made  ; 
he  does  not  care  whether  you  buy  or  not : he  thinks  he  is  rather 
doing  you  a favour  than  otherwise  by  letting  you  have  one  of  his 
pictures  at  all.  All  the  good  you  do  him  is  to  help  him  to  buy  a 
new  pair  of  carriage  horses ; whereas,  with  that  same  sum  which 
thus  you  cast  away,  you  might  have  relieved  the  hearts  and  pre- 
served the  health  of  twenty  young  painters;  and  if  among  those 
twenty,  you  but  chanced  on  one  in  whom  a true  latent  ^wer  had 
been  hindered  by  his  poverty,  just  consider  what  a far-branching, 
far-embracing  good  you  have  wrought  with  that  lucky  expenditure 
of  yours.  I say,  “ Consider  it”  in  vain ; you  cannot  consider  it. 
for  you  cannot  conceive  the  sickness  of  the  heart  with  which  a 
young  painter  of  deep  feeling  toils  through  his  first  obscurity; — 
his  sense  of  the  strong  voice  within  him,  which  you  will  not 
hear ; — his  vain,  fond,  wondering  witness  to  the  things  you  will 
not  see; — his  far  away  perception  of  things  that  he  could  accom- 
plish if  he  had  but  peace  and  time,  all  unapproachable  and  vanish- 
ing from  him,  because  no  one  will  leave  him  peace  or  grant  him 
time  : all  his  friends  falling  back  from  him  ; those  whom  he  would 


LECT.  II.]  IV.  DISTRIBUTION.  . 77 

most  reverently  obey  rebuking  and  paralysing  him ; and  last  and 
worst  of  all,  those  who  believe  in  him  the  most  faithfully  suffering 
by  him  the  most  bitterly ; — the  wife’s  eyes,  in  their  sweet  ambition, 
shining  brighter  as  the  cheek  wastes  away ; and  the  little  lips  at 
his  side  parched  and  pale  which  one  day,  he  knows,  though  he 
may  never  see  it,  will  quiver  so  proudly  when  they  name  his  name, 
calling  him  “ our  father.”  You  deprive  yourselves,  by  your  large 
expenditure  for  pictures  of  mark,  of  the  power  of  relieving  and 
redeeming  this  distress ; you  injure  the  painter  whom  you  pay  so 
largely ; — and  what,  after  all,  have  you  done  for  yourselves,  or 
got  for  yourselves  ? It  does  not  in  the  least  follow  that  the  hur- 
ried work  of  a fashionable  painter  will  contain  more  for  your 
money  than  the  quiet  work  of  some  unknown  man.  In  all  pro- 
bability, you  will  find,  if  you  rashly  purchase  what  is  popular  at  a 
high  price,  that  you  have  got  one  picture  you  don’t  care  for,  for 
a sum  which  would  have  bought  twenty  you  would  have  delighted 
in.  For  remember  always  that  the  price  of  a picture  by  a living 
artist,  never  represents,  never  can  represent,  the  quantity  of  labour 
or  value  in  it.  Its  price  represents,  for  the  most  part,  the  degree 
of  desire  which  the  rich  people  of  the  country  have  to  possess  it. 
Once  get  the  wealthy  classes  to  imagine  that  the  possession  of 
pictures  by  a given  artist  adds  to  their  “ gentility,”  and  there  is 
no  price  which  his  work  may  not  immediately  reach,  and  for  years 
maintain ; and  in  buying  at  that  price,  you  are  not  getting  value 
for  your  money,  but  merely  disputing  for  victory  in  a contest  of 
ostentation.  And  it  is  hardly  possible  to  spend  your  money  in  a 
worse  or  more  wasteful  way ; for  though  you  may  not  be  doing  it 
for  ostentation  yourself,  you  are,  by  your  pertinacity,  nourishing 
the  ostentation  of  others ; you  meet  them  in  their  game  of  wealth, 
and  continue  it  for  them ; if  they  had  not  found  an  opposite 
player,  the  game  would  have  been  done ; for  a proud  man  can 
find  no  enjoyment  in  possessing  himself  of  what  nobody  disputes 
with  him.  So  that  by  every  farthing  you  give  for  a picture  beyond 


V8  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

its  fair  price — that  is  to  say,  the  price  which  will  pay  the  painter  for 
his  lime — you  are  not  only  cheating  yourself  and  buying  vanity,  but 
you  are  stimulating  the  vanity  of  others ; paying,  literally,  for  the 
cultivation  of  pride.  You  may  consider  every  pound  that  you 
spend  above  the  just  price  of  a work  of  art,  as  an  investment  in  a 
cargo  of  mental  quick-lime  or  guano,  which,  being  laid  on  the 
fields  of  human  nature,  is  to  grow  a harvest  of  pride.  You  are  in 
fact  ploughing  and  harrowing,  in  a most  valuable  part  of  your 
land,  in  order  to  reap  the  whirlwind ; you  are  setting  your  hand 
stoutly  to  Job’s  agriculture,  “ Let  thistles  gro^^r  instead  of  wheat, 
and  cockle  instead  of  barley.’’ 

Well,  but  you  will  say,  there  is  one  advantage  in  high  prices, 
which  more  than  counterbalances  all  this  mischief,  namely,  that 
by  great  reward  we  both  urge  and  enable  a painter  to  produce 
rather  one  perfect  picture  than  many  inferior  ones  : and  one  per- 
fect picture  (so  you  tell  us,  and  we  believe  it)  is  worth  a great 
number  of  inferior  ones. 

It  is  so ; but  you  cannot  get  it  by  paying  for  it.  A great  work 
is  only  done  when  the  painter  gets  into  the  humour  for  it,  likes  his 
subject,  and  determines  to  paint  it  as  well  as  he  can,  whether  he 
is  paid  for  it  or  not ; but  bad  work,  and  generally  the  worst  sort 
of  bad  work,  is  done  when  he  is  trying  to  produce  a showy  pic- 
tui-e,  or  one  that  shall  appear  to  have  as  much  labour  in  it  as  shall 
be  wortli  a high  price."^ 

* "When  this  lecture  was  delivered,  I gave  here  some  data  for  approximate 
estimates  of  the  average  value-  of  good  modern  pictures  of  different  classes ; 
hut  the  subject  is  too  complicated  to  be  adequately  treated  in  writing,  with- 
out introducing  more  detail  than  the  reader  will  have  patience  for.  But  I 
may  state  roughly,  that  prices  above  a hundred  guineas  are  in  general  extra- 
vagant for  water-colours,  and  above  five  hundred  for  oils.  An  artist 
almost  always  docs  wrong  who  puts  more  work  than  these  prices  will  remu- 
nerate him  for  into  anj'-  single  canvass — his  talent  would  be  better  employed 
in  painting  two  pictures  than  one  so  elaborate.  The  water-colour  painters 


LECT.  II.]  IV.  DISTRIBUTION.  ^ 79 

There  is,  however,  another  }X)int,  and  a still  more  important 
one,  bearing  on  this  matter  of  purchase,  than  the  keeping  down 
of  prices  to  a rational  standard.  And  that  is,  that  you  pay  your 
prices  into  the  hands  of  living  men,  and  do  not  pour  them  into 
coffins. 

For  observe  that,  as  we  an^inge  our  payment  of  pictures  at 
present,  no  artist’s  work  is  worth  half  its  proper  value  while  he  is 
alive.  The  moment  he  dies,  his  pictures,  if  they  are  good,  reach 
double  tlieir  former  value ; but  that  rise  of  price  represents  simply 
a profit  made  by  the  intelligent  dealer  or  purchaser  on  his  past 
purchases.  So  tliat  the  real  facts  of  the  matter  are,  that  the  Bri- 
tish public,  spending  a certain  sum  annually  in  art,  determines 
that,  of  every  thousand  it  pays,  only  five  hundred  shall  go  to  the 
painter,  or  shall  be  at  all  concerned  in  the  production  of  art;  and 
that  the  other  five  hundred  shall  be  paid  merely  as  a testimonial 
to  the  intelligent  dealer,  who  knew  what  to  buy.  Now,  testimo- 
nials are  very  pretty  and  proper  things,  within  due  limits ; but 
testimonial  to  the  amount  of  a hundred  per  cent,  on  the  total 
expenditure  is  not  good  political  economy.  Do  not,  therefore,  in 
general,  unless  you  see  it  to  be  necessary  for  its  preservation,  buy 
the  picture  of  a dead  artist  If  you'fear  that  it  may  be  exposed  to 
contempt  or  ne^ect,  buy  it ; its  price  will  then,  probably,  not  be 
high  : if  you  want  to  put  it  into  a public  gallery,  buy  it;  you  are 
.sure,  then,  that  you  do  not  spend  your  money  selfishly : or,  if  you 
loved  the  man’s  work  while  he  was  alive,  and  bought  it  then,  buy 
it  also  now,  if  you  can  see  no  living  work  equal  to  it.  But  if  you 
did  not  buy  it  while  the  man  was  living,  never  buy  it  after  he  is 

also  are  getting  into  the  habit  of  making  their  drawings  too  large,  and  in  a 
measure  attaching  their  price  rather  to  breadth  and  extent  of  touch  than  to 
thoughtful  labour.  Of  course  marked  exceptions  occur  here  and  there,  as 
in  the  case  of  John  Lewis,  whose  drawings  are  wrought  with  unfailing  pre- 
cision throughout,  Whatever  their  scale.  Hardly  any  price  can  be  remune- 
rative for  such  work. 


80 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


dead  : you  are  then  doing  no  good  to  him,  and  you  are  doing  some 
shame  to  yourself.  Look  around  you  for  pictures  that  you  really 
like,  and  by  buying  which  you  can  help  some  genius  yet  unpe- 
rished— that  is  the  best  atonement  you  can  make  to  the  one  you 
have  neglected — and  give  to  the  living  and  struggling  painter  at 
once  wages,  and  testimonial. 

So  far  then  of  the  motives  which  should  induce  us  to  keep 
down  the  prices  of  modern  art,  and  thus  render  it,  as  a private 
possession,  attainable  by  greater  numbers  of  people  than  at  present. 
But  we  should  strive  to  render  it  accessible  to  them  in  other  ways 
also — chiefly  by  the  permanent  decoration  of  public  buildings ; 
and  it  is  in  this  field  that  I think  we  may  look  for  the  profitable 
means  of  providing  that  constant  employment  for  young  painters 
of  which  we  were  speaking  last  evening. 

The  first  and  most  important  kind  of  public  buildings  which  we 
are  always  sure  to  want,  are  schools : and  I would  ask  you  to  con- 
sider very  carefully,  whether  we  may  not  wisely  introduce  some 
great  changes  in  the  way  of  school  decoration.  Hitherto,  as  far*" as 
I know,  it  has  either  been  so  difficult  to  give  all  the  education  we 
wanted  to  our  lads,  that  we  have  been  obliged  to  do  it,  if  at  all, 
with  cheap  furniture  in  bare  walls  ; or  else  we  have  considered 
that  cheap  furniture  and  bare  walls  are  a proper  part  of  the  means 
of  education  ; and  supposed  that  boys  learned  best  when  they  sat 
on  hard  forms,  and  had  nothing  but  blank  plaster  about  and  above 
them  whereupon  to  employ  their  spare  attention  ; also,  that  it  was 
as  well  they  should  be  accustomed  to  rough  and  ugly  conditions 
of  things,  pai'tly  by  way  of  preparing  them  for  the  hardships  of 
life,  ami  ])artly  that  there  might  be  the  least  possible  damage  done 
to  floors  and  forms,  in  the  event  of  their  becoming,  during  the 
master’s  absence,  the  fiehls  or  instruments  of  battle.  All  this  is 
so  far  well  and  necessary,  as  it  relates  to  the  training  of  country 
lads,  and  the  first  training  of  boys  in  general.  But  there  certainly 
comes  a period  in  the  life  of  a well  educated  youth,  in  which  one 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


81 


LECT,  II.] 

of  the  principal  elements  of  his  education  is,  or  ought  to  he,  to  give 
him  refinement  of  habits ; and  not  only  to  teach  him  the  strong 
exercises  of  which  his  frame  is  capable,  but  also  to  increase  his 
bodily  sensibility  and  refinement,  and  show  him  such  small  mat- 
ters as  the  way  of  handling  things  properly,  and  treating  them 
considerately.  Not  only  so,  but  I believe  the  notion  of  fixing  the 
attention  by  keeping  the  room  empty,  is  a wholly  mistaken  one  : 
I think  it  is  just  in  the  emptiest  room  that  the  mind  wanders  most; 
for  it  gets  restless,  like  a bird,  for  want  of  a perch,  and  casts  about 
for  any  possible  means  of  getting  out  and  away.  And  even  if  it 
be  fixed,  by  an  effort,  on  the  business  in  hand,  that  business 
becomes  itself  repulsive,  more  than  it  need  be,  by  the  vileness  of 
its  associations ; and  many  a study  appears  dull  or  painful  to  a 
boy,  when  it  is  pursued  on  a blotted  deal  desk,  under  a wall  with 
nothing  on  it  but  scratches  and  pegs,  which  would  have  been  pur- 
sued pleasantly  enough  in  a curtained  corner  of  his  father’s  library, 
or  at  the  lattice  window  of  his  cottage.  Nay,  my  own  belief  is, 
that  the  best  study  of  all  is  the  most  beautiful ; and  that  a quiet 
glade  of  forest,  or  the  nook  of  a lake  shore,  are  worth  all  the 
schoolrooms  in  Christendom,  when  once  you  are  past  the  multipli- 
cation table ; but  be  that  as  it  may,  there  is  no  question  at  all  but 
that  a time  ought  to  come  in  the  life  of  a well  trained  youth, 
when  he  can  sit  at  a writing  table  without  wanting  to  throw  the 
inkstand  at  his  neighbour ; and  when  also  he  will  feel  more  capa- 
ble of  certain  efforts  of  mind  with  beautiful  and  refined  forms 
about  him  than  with  ugly  ones.  When  that  time  comes  he 
ought  to  be  advanced  into  the  decorated  schools;  and  this  advance 
ought  to  be  one  of  the  important  and  honourable  epochs  of  his 
life. 

I have  not  time,  however,  to  insist  on  the  mere  serviceableness 
to  our  youth  of  refined  architectural  decoration,  as  such ; for  I 
want  you  to  consider  the  probable  influence  of  the  particular  kind 
of  decoration  which  I wish  you  to  get  for  them,  namely,  historical 


82  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

painting.  You  know  we  have  hitherto  been  in  the  habit  of  con- 
veying all  our  historical  knowledge,  such  as  it  is,  by  the  ear  only, 
never  by  the  eye  ; all  our  notions  of  things  being  ostensibly 
derived  from  verbal  description,  not  from  sight.  Now,  I have  no 
doubt  that,  as  we  grow  gradually  wiser — and  we  are  doing  so 
every  day — we  shall  discover  at  last  that  the  eye  is  a nobler  organ 
than  the  ear ; and  that  through  the  eye  we  must,  in  reality, 
obtain,  or  put  into  form,  nearly  all  the  useful  information  we  are 
to  have  about  this  world.  Even  as  the  matter  stands,  you  will 
find  that  the  knowledge  which  a boy  is  supposed  to  receive  from 
verbal  description  is  only  available  to  him  so  far  as  in  any  under- 
hand way  he  gets  a sight  of  the  thing  you  are  talking  about.  I 
remember  well  that,  for  many  years  of  my  life,  the  only  notion  I 
had  of  the  look  of  a Greek  knight  was  complicated  between  recol- 
lection of  a small  engraving  in  my  pocket  Pope’s  Homer,  and 
reverent  study  of  the  Horse-Guards.  And  though  I believe  that 
most  boys  collect  their  ideas  from  more  varied  sources,  and 
arrange  them  more  carefully  than  I did ; still,  whatever  sources 
they  seek  must  always  be  ocular : if  they  are  clever  boys,  they 
will  go  and  look  at  the  Greek  vases  and  sculptures  in  the  British 
Museum,  and  at  the  weapons  in  our  armouries — they  will  see 
what  real  armour  is  like  in  lustre,  and  what  Greek  armour  was 
like  in  form,  and  so  put  a fairly  true  image  together,  but  still  not, 
in  ordinary  cases,  a very  living  or  interesting  one.  Now,  the  use 
of  your  decorative  painting  would  be,  in  myriads  of  ways,  to 
animate  their  history  for  them,  and  to  put  the  living  aspect  of 
j»ast  things  before  their  eyes  as  faithfully  as  intelligent  invention 
can  ; so  that  the  master  shall  have  nothing  to  do  but  once  to 
})oint  to  the  schoolroom  walls,  and  for  ever  afterwards  the  meaning 
of  any  word  wonld  be  fixed  in  a boy’s  mind  in  the  best  possible 
way.  Is  it  a (juestion  of  classical  dress — what  a tunic  was  like, 
or  a chlamys,  or  a pepliis?  At  this  day,  you  have  to  point  to 
some  vile  woodcut,  in  the  middle  of  a dictionary  page,  represent- 


LECT.  IlJ 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


83 


ing  the  thing  hung  upon  a stick ; hut  then,  yon  would  point  to  a 
hundred  figures,  wearing  the  actual  dress,  in  its  fiery  colours,  in 
all  the  actions  of  various  stateliness  or  strength ; you  would  under- 
stand at  once  how  it  fell  round  the  people’s  limbs  as  they  stood, 
how  it  drifted  from  their  shouldei's  as  they  went,  how  it  veiled 
their  faces  as  they  wept,  how  it  covered  their  heads  in  the  day  of 
battle,  yoiv^  if  you  want  to  see  what  a weapon  is  like,  you  refer, 
in  like  manner,  to  a numbered  page,  in  which  there  are  spear- 
heads in  rows,  and  sword-hilts  in  symmetrical  groups;  and 
gradually  the  boy  gets  a dim  mathematical  notion  how  one 
scymitar  is  hooked  to  the  right  and  another  to  the  left,  and  one 
javelin  has  a knob  to  it  and  another  none : while  one  glance  at 
your  good  picture  would  show  hiii], — and  the  first  rainy  afternoon 
in  the  schoolroom  would  for  ever  fix  in  his  mind, — the  look  of  the 
sword  and  spear  as  they  fell  or  flew ; and  how  they  pierced,  or 
bent,  or  shattered — how  men  wielded  them,  and  how  men  died 
by  them.  But  far  more  than  all  this,  is  it  a question  not  of 
clothes  or  weapons,  but  of  men  ? how  can  we  sufficiently  estimate 
the  effect  on  .the  mind  of  a noble  youth,  at  the  time  when  the 
world  opens  to  him,  of  having  faithful  and  touching  representa- 
tions put  before  him  of  the  acts  and  presences  of  great  men — 
liow  many  a resolution,  which  would  alter  and  exalt  the  whole 
course  of  his  after-life,  might  be  formed,  when  in  some  dreamy 
twilight  he  met,  through  his  own  tears,  the  fixed  eyes  of  those 
shadows  of  the  great  dead,  unescapable  and  calm,  piercing  to  his 
soul ; or  fancied  that  their  lips  moved  in  dread  reproof  or  sound- 
less exhortation.  And  if  but  for  one  out  of  many  this  were  true — 
if  yet,  in  a few,  you  could  be  sure  that  such  influence  had  indeed 
changed  their  thoughts  and  destinies,  and  turned  the  eager  and 
reckless  youth,  who  would  have  cast  away  his  energies  on  the 
race-horse  or  the  gambling-table,  to  that  noble  life-race,  that  holy 
life-hazard,  which  should  win  all  glory  to  himself  and  all  good  to 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


84 


[lECT.  II. 


his  country — would  not  that,  to  some  purpose,  be  “political 
economy  of  art?” 

And  observe,  there  could  be  no  monotony,  no  exhaustibleness, 
in  the  scenes  required  to  bo  thus  portrayed.  Even  if  there  were, 
and  you  wanted  for  every  school  in  the  kingdom,  one  death  of 
Leonidas;  one  battle  of  Marathon;  one  death  of  Cleobis  and 
Bito ; there  need  not  therefore  be  more  monotony  in  your  art 
than  there  was  in  the  repetition  of  a given  ^^cle  of  subjects  by 
the  religious  painters  of  Italy.  But  we  ought  not  to  admit  a cycle 
at  all.  For  though  we  had  as  many  great  schools  as  we  have 
great  cities  (one  day  I hope  we  shatl  have),  centuries  of  painting 
would  not  exhaust,  in  all  the  number  of  them,  the  noble  and 
pathetic  subjects  which  might  be  chosen  from  the  history  of  even 
one  noble  nation.  But,  beside  this,  you  will  not,  in  a little  while, 
limit  your  youths’  studies  to  so  narrow  fields  as  you  do  now. 
There  will  come  a time — I am  sure  of  it — when  it  will  be  found 
that  the  same  practical  results,  both  in  mental  discipline,  and  in 
political  philosophy,  are  to  be  attained  by  the  accurate  study  of 
mediaeval  and  modern  as  of  ancient  history ; and  that  the  facts 
of  mediaeval  and  modern  history  are,  on  the  whole,  the  most  im- 
portant to  us.  And  among  these  noble  groups  of  constellated 
schools  which  I foresee  arising  in  our  England,  I foresee  also  that 
there  will  be  divided  fields  of  thought ; and  that  while  each  will 
give  its  scholars  a great  general  idea  of  the  world’s  history,  such 
as  all  men  should  possess — each  will  also  take  upon  itself,  as  its 
own  special  duty,  the  closer  study  of  the  course  of  events  in  some 
given  place  or  time.  It  will  review  the  rest  of  history,  but  it  will 
exhaust  its  own  special  field  of  it;  and  found  its  moral  and 
political  teaching  on  the  most  perfect  possible  analysis  of  the 
results  of  human  conduct  in  one  place,  and  at  one  epoch.  And 
then,  the  galleries  of  that  school  will  be  painted  with  the  historical 
scenes  belonging  to  the  age  which  it  has  chosen  for  its  special 
studv. 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


85 


LECT.  II.] 

So  far,  then,  of  art  as  you  may  apply  it  to  that  great  series  of 
public  buildings  which  you  devote  to  the  education  of  youth.  The 
next  large  class  of  public  buildings  in  which  we  should  introduce 
it,  is  one  which  I think  a few  years  more  of  national  progress  will 
render  more  serviceable  to  us  than  they  have  been  lately.  I 
mean,  buildings  for  the  meetings  of  guilds  of  trades. 

And  here,  for  the  last  time,  I must  again  interrupt  the  course 
of  our  chief  inquiry,  in  order  to  state  one  other  principle  of 
political  economy,  which  is  perfectly  simple  and  indisputable ; but 
which,  nevertheless,  we  continually  get  into  commercial  embarrass- 
ments for  want  of  understanding ; and  not  only  so,  but  suffer 
much  hindrance  in  our  commercial  discoveries,  because  many  of 
our  business  men  do  not  practically  admit  it. 

Supposing  half  a dozen  or  a dozen  men  were  cast  ashore  from 
a wreck  on  an  uninhabited  island,  and  left  to  their  own  resources, 
one  of  course,  according  to  his  capacity,  would  be  set  to  one 
business  and  one  to  another ; the  strongest  to  dig  and  to  cut  wood, 
and  to  build  huts  for  the  rest : the  most  dexterous  to  make  shoes 
out  of  bark  and  coats  out  of  skins ; the  best  educated  to  look  for 
iron  or  lead  in  the  rocks,  and  to  plan  the  channels  for  the  irriga- 
tion of  the  fields.  But  though  their  labours  were  thus  naturally 
severed,  that  small  group  of  shipwrecked  men  would  understand 
well  enough  that  the  speediest  progress  was  to  be  made  by  help- 
ing each  other, — not  by  opposing  each  other : and  they  would 
know  that  this  help  could  only  be  properly  given  so  long  as  they 
were  frank  and  open  in  their  relations,  and  the  difficulties  which 
each  lay  under  properly  explained  to  the  rest.  So  that  any 
appearance  of  secresy  or  separateness  in  the  actions  of  any  of 
them  would  instantly,  and  justly,  be  looked  upon  with  suspicion 
by  the  rest,  as  the  sign  of  some  selfish  or  foolish  proceeding  on  the 
part  of  the  individual.  If,  for  instance,  the  scientific  man  were 
found  to  have  gone  out  at  night,  unknown  to  the  rest,  to  alter  the 
sluices,  the  others  would  think,  and  in  all  probability  rightly  think, 


86 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OP  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


that  he  wanted  to  get  the  best  supply  of  water  to  his  own  field  ; 
and  if  the  shoemaker  refused  to  show-  them  where  the  bark  grew 
which  he  made  the  sandals  of,  they  would  naturally  think,  and  in 
all  probability  rightly  think,  that  he  didn’t  want  them  to  see  how 
much  there  was  of  it,  and  that  he  meant  to  ask  from  them  more 
corn  and  potatoes  in  exchange  for  his  sandals  than  the  trouble  of 
making  them  deserved.  And  thus,  although  each  man  would 
have  a portion  of  time  to  himself  in  which  he  was  allowed  to  do 
what  he  chose  without  let  or  inquiry, — so  long  as  he  was  working 
in  that  particular  business  which  he  had  undertaken  for  the  com- 
mon benefit,  any  secresy  on  his  part  would  be  immediately  sup- 
posed to  mean  mischief ; and  would  require  to  be  accounted  for, 
or  put  an  end  to : and  this  all  the  more  because,  whatever  the 
work  might  be,  certainly  there  would  be  difficulties  about  it  which, 
when  once  they  were  well  explained,  might  be  more  or  less  done 
away  with  by  the  help  of  the  rest ; so  that  assuredly  every  one  of 
them  would  advance  with  his  labour  not  only  more  happily,  but 
more  profitably  and  quickly,  by  having  no  secrets,  and  by  frankly 
bestowing,  and  frankly  receiving,  such  help  as  lay  in  his  way  to 
get  or  to  give. 

And,  just  as  the  best  and  richest  result  of  wealth  and  happiness 
to  the  whole  of  them,  would  follow  on  their  perseverance  in  such 
a system  of  frank  communication  and  of  helpful  labour ; — so  pre^ 
ciscly  the  worst  and  poorest  result  would  be  obtained  by  a system 
of  secresy  and  of  enmity  ; and  each  man’s  happiness  and  wealth 
would  assuredly  be  diminished  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  jealousy  and  concealment  became  their  social  and  economi- 
cal principles.  It  would  not,  in  the  long  run,  bring  good,  but  only 
evil,  to  the  man  of  science,  if,  instead  of  telling  openly  where  he 
had  found  good  iron,  he  carefully  concealed  every  new  bed  of  it, 
that  he  might  ask,  in  exchange  for  the  rare  ploughshare,  more 
C(;rn  from  the  farmer,  or  in  exchange  for  the  rude  needle,  more 
labour  from  the  sempstress  : and  it  would  not  nltiuiately  bring 


LECT.  II.] 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


87 


good,  but  only  evil,  to  the  farmers,  if  they  sought  to  burn  each 
other’s  cornstacks,  that  they  might  raise  the  value  of  tlieir  grain, 
or  if  the  sempstresses  tried  to  break  each  other’s  needles,  that  each 
might  get  all  the  stitching  to  herself. 

Now,  these  laws  of  human  action  are  precisely  as  authoritative 
in  their  application  to  the  conduct  of  a million  of  men,  as  to  that 
of  six  or  twelve.  All  enmity,  jealousy,  opposition,  and  secresy  are 
wholly,  and  in  all  circumstances,  destructive  in  their  nature — not 
productive;  and  all  kindness,  fellowship,  and  communicativeness 
are  invariably  productive  in  their  operation, — not  destructive ; and 
the  evil  principles  of  opposition  and  exclusiveness  are  not  ren- 
dered less  fatal,  but  more  fatal,  by  their  acceptance  among  large 
masses  of  men ; more  fatal,  I say,  exactly  in  proportion  as  their 
influence  is  more  secret.  For  though  the  opposition  does  always 
its  own  simple,  necessary,  direct  quantity  of  harm,  and  withdraws 
always  its  own  simple,  necessary,  measurable  quantity  of  wealth 
from  the  sum  possessed  by  the  community,  yet,  in  proportion  to 
the  size  of  the  community,  it  does  another  and  more  refined  mis- 
chief than  this,  by  concealing  its  own  fatality  under  aspects  of  mer- 
cantile complication  and  expediency,  and  giving  rise  to  multitudes 
of  false  theories  based  on  a mean  belief  in  narrow  and  immediate 
appearances  of  good  done  here  and  there  by  things  which  have 
the  universal  and  everlasting  nature  of  evil.  So  that  the  time  and 
powers  of  the  nation  are  wasted,  not  only  in  wretched  struggling 
against  each  other,  but  in  vain  complaints,  and  groundless  discou- 
ragements, and  empty  investigations,  and  useless  experiments  in 
laws,  and  elections,  and  inventions ; with  hope  always  to  pull  wis- 
dom through  some  new-shaped  slit  in  a ballot-box,  and  to  drag 
prosperity  down  out  of  the  clouds  along  some  new  knot  of  electric 
wire ; while  all  the  while  Wisdom  stands  calling  at  the  corners  of 
the  streets,  and  the  blessing  of  heaven  waits  ready  to  rain  down 
upon  us,  deeper  than  the  rivers  and  broader  than  the  dew,  if  only 
we  will  obey  the  first  plain  principles  of  humanity,  and  the  first 


88  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

plain  precepts  of  the  skies;  “Execute  true  judgment,  and  show 
mercy  and  compassion,  every  man  to  his  brother ; and  let  none  of 
you  imagine  evil  against  his  brother  in  your  heart.”"^' 

Therefore,  I believe  most  firmly,  that  as  the  laws  of  national 
prosperity  get  familiar  to  us,  we  shall  more  and  more  cast  our  toil 
into  social  and  communicative  systems ; and  that  one  of  the  first 
means  of  our  doing  so,  will  be  the  re-establishing  guilds  of  every 
important  trade  in  a vital,  not  formal,  condition ; — that  there  will 
be  a great  council  or  government  house  for  the  members  of  every 
trade,  built  in  whatever  town  of  the  kingdom  occupies  itself  prin- 
cipally in  such  trade,  with  minor  council  halls  in  other  cities ; and 
to  each  council-hall,  officers  attached,  whose  first  business  may  be 

* It  would  be  well  if,  instead  of  preaching  continually  about  the  doctrine 
of  faith  and  good  works,  our  clergymen  would  simply  explain  to  their  people 
a little  what  good  works  mean.  There  is  not  a chapter  in  «.ll  the  book  we 
profess  to  believe,  more  specially,  and  directly  written  for  England,  than  the 
second  of  Habakkuk,  and  I never  in  all  my  life  heard  one  of  its  practical  texts 
preached  from.  I suppose  the  clergymen  are  aU  afraid,  and  know  that  their 
flocks,  while  they  will  sit  quite  politely  to  hear  syllogisms  out  of  the  epistle 
to  the  Romans,  would  get  restive  directly  if  they  ever  pressed  a practical 
text  homo  to  them.  But  we  should  have  no  mercantile  catastrophes,  and  no 
distressful  pauperism,  if  we  only  read  often,  and  took  to  heart,  those  plain 
words:  “Yea,  also,  because  he  is  a proud  man,  neither  keepeth  at  home, 
who  enlargeth  his  desire  as  hell,  and  cannot  be  satisfied, — Shall  not  all  these 
take  up  a parable  against  him,  and  a taunting  proverb  against  him,  and  say, 

‘ Woe  to  him  that  incrcaseth  that  which  is  not  his : and  to  him  that  ladeth 
himself  with  thick  clay.^  ” (What  a glorious  history,  in  one  metaphor,  of  the 
life  of  a man  greedy  of  fortune.)  “Woe  to  him  that  coveteth  an  evil  cove- 
tousness that  lie  may  set  his  nest  on  high.  Woe  to  him  that  buildeth  a 
town  with  blood,  and  stablisheth  a city  by  iniquity.  Behold,  is  it  not  of  the 
Lord  of  Hosts  that  tlie  people  shall  labour  in  the  very  fire,  and  the  people 
sliall  weary  themselves  for  very  vanity.” 

Tlio  Americans,  wlio  have  been  sending  out  ships  with  sham  bolt-heads  on 
their  timbers,  and  only  half  their  bolts,  may  meditate  on  that  “buildeth  a 
town  with  blood.” 


LECT.  II.] 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


89 


to  examine  into  the  circnmstances  of  every  operative,  in  tliat  trade, 
who  chooses  to  report  himself  to  them  when  out  of  work,  and  to 
set  him  to  work,  if  he  is  indeed  able  and  willing,  at  a fixed  rate  of 
wages,  determined  at  regular  periods  in  the  council-meetings ; 
and  whose  next  duty  may  be  to  bring  reports  before  the  council 
of  all  improvements  made  in  the  business,  and  means  of  its  exten- 
sion : not  allowing  private  patents  of  any  kind,  but  making  all 
improvements  available  to  every  member  of  the  guild,  only  allot- 
ting, after  successful  trial  of  them,  a certain  reward  to  the  inven- 
tors. 

For  these,  and  many  other  such  purposes,  such  halls  will  be 
again,  I trust,  fully  established,  and  then,  in  the  paintings  and 
decorations  of  them,  especial  effort  ought  to  be  made  to  express  the 
worthiness  and  honourableness  of  the  trade  for  whose  members 
they  are  founded.  For  I believe  one  of  the  worst  symptoms  of 
modern  society  to  be,  its  notion  of  great  inferiority,  and  ungentle- 
manliness,  as  necessarily  belonging  to  the  character  of  a tradesman. 
I believe  tradesmen  may  be,  ought  to  be — often  are,  more  gentle- 
men than  idle  and  useless  people : and  I believe  that  art  may  do 
noble  work  by  recjOi*dtBg  in  the  hall  of  each  trade,  the  services 
which  men  belonging  to  that  trade  have  done  for  their  country, 
both  preserving  the  portraits,  and  recording  the  important  incidents 
in  the  lives,  of  those  who  have  made  great  advances  in  commerce 
and  civilization.  I cannot  follow  out  this  subject,  it  branches  too 
far,  and  in  too  many  directions ; besides,  I have  no  doubt  you  will 
at  once  see  and  accept  the  truth  of  the  main  principle,  and  be  able 
to  think  it  out  for  yourselves.  I would  fain  also  have  said  some- 
thing of  what  might  be  done,  in  the  same  manner,  for  almshouses 
and  hospitals,  and  for  what,  as  I shall  try  to  explain  in  notes  to 
this  lecture,  we  may  hope  to  see,  some  day,  established  with  a 
different  meaning  in  their  name  than  that  they  now  bear — work- 
houses;  but  I have  detained  you  too  long  already,  and  cannot 
permit  myself  to  trespass  further  on  your  patience  except  only  to 


90 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


[lECT.  II. 


recapitulate,  in  closing,  the  simple  principles  respecting  wealth, 
which  we  have  gathered  during  the  course  of  our  inquiry ; prin- 
ciples which  are  nothing  more  than  the  literal  and  practical  accep- 
tance of  the  saying,  which  is  in  all  good  men’s  mouths ; namely, 
that  they  are  stewards  or  ministers  of  whatever  talents  are 
entrusted  to  them.  Only,  is  it  not  a strange  thing,  that  while  we 
more  or  less  accept  the  meaning  of  that  saying,  so  long  as  it  is 
considered  metaphorical,  we  never  accept  its  meaning  in  its 
own  terms  ? You  know  the  lesson  is  given  us  under  the  form  of  a 
story  about  money.  Money  was  given  to  the  servants  to  make  use 
of : the  unprofitable  servant  dug  in  the  earth,  and  hid  his  Lord’s 
money.  Well,  we,  in  our  poetical  and  spiritual  application  of  this, 
say,  that  of  course  money  doesn’t  mean  money,  it  means  wit,  it 
means  intellect,  it  means  influence  in  high  quarters,  it  means  every- 
thing in  the  world  except  itself.  And  do  not  you  see  what  a 
pretty  and  pleasant  come-off  there  is  for  most  of  us,  in  this  spiritual 
application?  Of  course,  if  we  had  wit,  we  would  use  it  for  the 
good  of  our  fellow-creatures.  But  we  haven’t  wit.  Of  course,  if 
we  had  influence  with  the  bishops,  we  would  use  it  for  the  good  of 
the  Church  ; but  we  haven’t  any  influence  with  the  bishops.  Of 
course,  if  we  had  political  power,  we  would  use  it  for  the  good  of 
the  nation  ; but  we  have  no  political  power ; we  have  no  talents 
entrusted  to  us  of  any  sort  or  kind.  It  is  true  we  have  a little 
money,  but  the  parable  can’t  possibly  mean  anything  so  vulgar 
as  money;  our  money’s  our  own. 

I believe,  if  you  think  seriously  of  this  matter,  you  will  feel  that 
the  first  and  most  literal  application  is  just  as  necessary  a one  as 
any  other — that  the  story  docs  very  specially  mean  what  it  says — 
plain  money ; and  that  the  reason  we  don’t  at  once  believe  it  does 
so,  is  a sort  of  tacit  idea  that  while  thought,  wit,  and  intellect, 
and  all  power  of  birtli  and  position,  are  indeed  given  to  us,  and, 
therefore,  to  be  laid  out  for  the  Giver, — our  wealth  has  not  been 
given  to  us ; but  we  have  worked  for  it,  and  have  a right  to  spend 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


91 


LECT.  II.] 

it  as  we  choose.  I think  you  will  find  that  is  the  real  substance 
of  our  understanding  in  this  matter.  Beauty,  we  say,  is  given  by 
God — it  is  a talent ; strength  is  given  by  God — it  is  a talent ; po- 
sition is  given  by  God — it  is  a talent ; but  money  is  proper  wages 
for  our  day’s  work — it  is  not  a talent,  it  is  a due.  We  may  justly 
spend  it  on  ourselves,  if  we  have  worked  for  it. 

x\nd  there  would  be  some  shadow  of  excuse  for  this,  were  it  not 
that  the  very  power  of  making  the  money  is  itself  only  one  of  the 
applications  of  that  intellect  or  strength  which  we  confess  to  be 
talents.  Why  is  one  man  richer  than  another?  Because  he  is 
more  industrious,  more  persevering,  and  more  sagacious.  Well, 
who  made  him  more  persevering  and  more  sagacious  than  others  ? 
That  power  of  endurance,  that  quickness  of  apprehension,  that  calm- 
ness of  judgment,  which  enable  him  to  seize  the  opportunities  that 
others  lose,  and  persist  in  the  lines  of  conduct  in  which  others 
fail — are  these  not  talents  ? — are  they  not  in  the  present  state 
of  the  world,  among  the  most  distinguished  and  influential  of  men- 
tal gifts  ? And  is  it  not  wonderful,  that  while  we  should  be  utter- 
ly ashamed  to  use  a superiority  of  body,  in  order  to  thrust  our 
weaker  companions  aside  from  some  place  of  advantage,  we 
unhesitatingly  use  our  superiorities  of  mind  to  thrust  them  back 
from  whatever  good  that  strength  of  mind  can  attain.  You  would 
be  indignant  if  you  saw  a strong  man  walk  into  a theatre  or  a 
lecture-room,  and,  calmly  choosing  the  best  place,  take  his  feeble 
neighbour  by  the  shoulder,  and  turn  him  out  of  it  into  the  back 
seats,  or  the  street.  You  would  be  equally  indignant  if  you  saw  a 
stout  fellow  thrust  himself  up  to  a table  where  some  hungry  chil- 
dren were  being  fed,  and  reach  his  arm  over  their  heads  and  take 
their  bread  from  them.  But  you  are  not  the  least  indignant  if 
when  a man  has  stoutness  of  thought  and  swiftness  of  capacity,  and, 
instead  of  being  long-armed  only,  has  the  much  greater  gift  of 
being  long-headed — you  think  it  perfectly  just  that  he  should  use 
his  intellect  to  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  all  the  other 


92  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

men  in  the  town  who  are  of  the  same  trade  with  him ; or  use  his 
breadth  and  sweep  of  sight  to  gather  some  branch  of  the  com- 
merce of  the  country  into  one  great  cobweb,  of  which  he  is  him- 
self to  be  the  central  spider,  making  every  thread  vibrate  with  the 
points  of  his  claws,  and  commanding  every  avenue  with  the  facets  of 
his  eyes.  You  see  no  injustice  in  this. 

But  there  is  injustice ; and,  let  us  trust,  one  of  which  honour- 
able men  will  at  no  very  distant  period  disdain  to  be  guilty.  In 
some  degree,  however,  it  is  indeed  not  unjust ; in  some  degree  it  is 
necessary  and  intended.  It  is  assuredly  just  that  idleness  should  be 
surpassed  by  energy ; that  the  widest  influence  should  be  possessed 
by  those  who  are  best  able  to  wield  it ; and  that  a wise  man,  at 
the  end  of  his  career,  should  be  better  off  than  a fool.  But  for 
that  reason,  is  the  fool  to  be  wretched,  utterly  crushed  down,  and 
left  in  all  the  suffering  which  his  conduct  and  capacity  naturally 
inflict? — Not  so.  What  do  you  suppose  fools  were  made  for? 
That  you  might  tread  upon  them,  and  starve  them,  and  get 
the  better  of  them  in  every  possible  way  ? By  no  means.  They 
were  made  that  wise  people  might  take  care  of  them.  That  is 
the  true  and  plain  fact  concerning  the  relations  of  every  strong  and 
wise  man  to  the  world  about  him.  He  has  his  strength  given  him, 
not  that  he  may  crush  the  weak,  but  that  he  may  support  and 
guide  them.  In  his  own  household  he  is  to  be  the  guide  and  the 
su])[)ort  of  his  children ; out  of  his  household  he  is  still  to  be  the 
father,  that  is,  the  guide  and  support  of  the  weak  and  the  poor; 
not  merely  of  the  mei-itoriously  weak  and  the  innocently  poor,  but 
of  the  guiltily  and  punishably  poor ; of  the  men  who  ought  to  have 
known  better — of  the  poor  who  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves. 
It  is  nothing  to  give  pension  and  cottage  to  the  widow  who  has 
lost  licr  son  ; it  is  nothing  to  give  food  and  medicine  to  the  work- 
man wlio  has  broken  his  arm,  or  the  decrepit  woman  wasting  in 
sickness.  But  it  is  something  to  use  your  time  and  strength  to  war 
with  the  waywardness  and  thoughtlessness  of  mankind ; to  keep 


IV.  DISTRIBUTION. 


93 


LECT.  II.] 

the  erring  workman  in  your  service  till  yon  have  made  him  an 
unerring  one  ; and  to  direct  your  fellow-merchant  to  the  opportunity 
which  his  dulness  would  have  lost.  This  is  much  ; but  it  is  yet 
more,  Avhen  you  have  fully  achieved  the  superiority  which  is  due  to 
you,  and  acquired  the  wealth  which  is  the  fitting  reward  of  your 
sagacity,  if  you  solemnly  accept  the  responsibility  of  it,  as  it  is  the 
helm  and  guide  of  labour  far  and  near.  For  you  who  have  it  in 
your  hands,  are  in  reality  the  pilots  of  the  power  and  effort  of  the 
State.  It  is  entrusted  to  you  as  an  authority  to  be  used  for  good 
or  evil,  just  as  completely  as  kingly  authority  was  ever  given  to  a 
prince,  or  military  command  to  a captain.  And,  according  to  the 
quantity  of  it  that  you  have  in  your  hands,  you  are  the  arbiters  of 
the  will  and  work  of  England ; and  the  whole  issue,  whether  the 
work  of  the  State  shall  suffice  for  the  State  or  not,  depends  upon 
you.  You  may  stretch  out  your  sceptre  over  the  heads  of  the 
English  labourers,  and  say  to  them,  as  they  stoop  to  its  waving, 
“ Subdue  this  obstacle  that  has  baffled  our  fathers,  put  away  this 
plague  that  consumes  our  children ; water  these  dry  places,  plough 
these  desert  ones,  carry  this  food  to  those  who  are  in  hunger; 
carry  this  light  to  those  who  are  in  darkness ; carry  this  life  to 
those  who  are  in  death  or  on  the  other  side  you  may  say  to  her 
labourers  : “ Here  am  I ; this  power  is  in  my  hand  ; come,  build  a 
mound  here  for  me  to  be  throned  upon,  high  and  wide  ; come,  make 
crowns  for  my  head,  that  men  may  see  them  shine  from  far  away ; 
come,  weave  tapestries  for  my  feet,  that  I may  tread  softly  on  the 
silk  and  purple ; come,  dance  before  me,  that  I may  be  gay ; and 
sing  sweetly  to  me,  that  I may  slumber ; so  shall  I live  in  joy,  and 
die  in  honour.”  And  better  than  such  an  honourable  death,  it 
were  that  the  day  had  perished  wherein  we  were  born,  and  the 
night  in  which  it  was  said  there  is  a child  conceived. 

I trust  that  in  a little  while,  there  will  be  few  of  our  rich  men 
who,  thi-ough  carelessness  or  covetousness,  thus  forfeit  the  glorious 
office  which  is  intended  for  their  hands.  I said,  just  now,  that 


94  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART.  [lECT.  II. 

wealth  ilhiised  was  as  the  net  of  the  spider,  entangling  and 
destroying : but  wealth  well  used,  is  as  the  net  of  the  sacred 
fisher  who  gathers  souls  of  men  out  of  the  deep.  A time  will 
come — I do  not  think  even  no\v  it  is  far  from  us — when  this 
golden  net  of  the  world’s  wealth  will  be  spread  abroad  as  the 
flaming  meshes  of  morning  cloud  are  over  the  sky ; bearing  with 
them  the  joy  of  light  and  the  dew  of  the  morning,  as  well  as  the 
summons  to  honourable  and  peaceful  toil.  What  less  can  we  hope 
from  your  wealth  than  this,  rich  men  of  England,  when  once  you 
feel  fully  how,  by  the  strength  of  your  possessions — not,  observe,  by 
the  exhaustion,  but  by  the  administration  of  them  and  the  power 
— you  can  direct  the  acts, — command  the  energies — inform  the 
ignorance, — prolong  the  existence,  of  the  whole  human  race ; and 
how,  even  of  worldly  wisdom,  which  man  employs  faithfully,  it  is 
true,  not  only  that  her  ways  are  pleasantness,  but  that  her  paths  are 
peace ; and  that,  for  all  the  children  of  men,  as  well  as  for  those 
to  whom  she  is  given.  Length  of  days  are  in  her  right  hand,  as  in 
her  left  hand  Riches  and  Honour  ? 


ADDENDA. 


95 


ADDENDA. 


!N'ote,  p.  20. — “ Fatherly  authority.'^’' 

This  statement  could  not,  of  course,  be  beard  witboiit  displeasure 
by  a certain  class  of  politicians ; and  in  one  of  the  notices  of  these 
lectures  given  in  the  Manchester  journals  at  the  time,  endeavour 
was  made  to  get  quit  of  it  by  referring  to  the  Divine  authority,  as 
the  only  Paternal  power  with  respect  to  which  men  were  truly 
styled  “brethren.”  Of  course  it  is  so,  and,  equally  of  course,  all 
human  government  is  nothing  else  than  the  executive  expression 
of  this  Divine  authority.  The  moment  government  ceases  to  be 
the  practical  enforcement  of  Divine  law,  it  is  tyranny ; and  the 
meaning  which  I attach  to  the  wmrds,  “ paternal  government,”  is 
in  more  extended  terms,  simply  this — “ The  executive  fulfilment, 
by  formal  human  methods,  of  the  will  of  the  Father  of  mankind 
respecting  Ilis  children.”  I could  not  give  such  a definition  of 
Government  as  this  in  a popular  lecture;  and  even  in  written 
form,  it  will  necessarily  suggest  many  objections,  of  which  I must 
notice  and  answer  the  most  probable. 

Only,  in  order  to  avoid  the  recurrence  of  such  tiresome  phrases 
as  “it  may  be  answered  in  the  second  place,”  and  “it  will  be 
objected  in  the  third  place,”  &c.,  I will  ask  the  reader’s  leave  to 
arrange  the  discussion  in  the  form  of  simple  dialogue,  letting  O. 
stand  for  objector,  and  i?.  for  response. 

0. — You  define  your  paternal  government  to  be  the  executive 
fulfilment,  by  formal  human  methods,  of  the  Divine  will.  But, 
assuredly,  that'  will  cannot  stand  in  need  of  aid  or  expression  from 
human  law^s.  It  cannot  fail  of  its  fulfilment. 

R. — In  the  final  sense  it  cannot;  and  in  that  sense,  men  who 


96 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


arc  committing  murder  and  stealing  are  fulfilling  the  will  of  God 
as  much  as  the  best  and  kindest  people  in  the  Avorld.  But  in  the 
limited  and  present  sense,  the  only  sense  with  which  we  have  any- 
thing to  do,  God’s  will  concerning  man  is  fulfilled  by  some  men, 
and  thwarted  by  others.  And  those  men  who  either  persuade  or 
enforce  the  doing  of  it,  stand  towards  those  who  are  rebellious 
against  it  exactly  in  the  position  of  faithful  children  in  a family, 
Avlio,  when  the  father  is  out  of  sight,  either  compel  or  persuade 
the  rest  to  do  as  their  father  would  have  them,,  were  he  present; 
and  in  so  far  as  they  are  expressing  and  maintaining,  for  the  time, 
the  paternal  authority,  they  exercise,  in  the  exact  sense  in  which  I 
mean  the  phrase  to  be  understood,  paternal  government  over  the  rest. 

0. — But,  if  Providence  has  left  a liberty  to  man  in  many  things 
in  order  to  prove  him,  why  should  human  law  abridge  that  liberty, 
and  take  upon  itself  to  compel  what  the  great  Lawgiver  does  not 
compel  ? 

R. — It  is  confessed,  in  the  enactment  of  any  law  whatsoever, 
that  human  lawgivers  have  a right  to  do  this.  For,  if  you  have 
no  right  to  abridge  any  of  the  liberty  Avhich  Providence  has  left 
to  man,  you  have  no  right  to  punish  any  one  for  committing  mur- 
der or  robbery.  You  ought  to  leave  them  to  the  punishment  of 
God  and  Nature.  But  if  you  think  yourself  under  obligation  to 
])unish,  as  far  as  human  laws  can,  the  violation  of  the  will  of  God 
by  these  great  sins,  you  are  certainly  under  the  same  obligation  to 
punish,  with  proportionately  less  punishment,  the  violation  of  His 
will  in  less  sins. 

0. — No ; you  must  not  attempt  to  punish  less  sins  by  law, 
because  you  cannot  properly  define  nor  ascertain  them.  Every- 
body can  determine  whether  murder  has  been  committed  or  not,* 
but  you  cannot  determine  how  far  people  have  been  unjust  or 
cruel  in  minor  matters,  and  therefore  cannot  make  or  execute  laws 
concerning  minor  matters. 

R. — Tf  I propose  to  you  to  punish  faults  which  cannot  be  defined, 
or  to  execute  laws  which  cannot  be  made  equitable,  reject  the 
laws  T pi-oposc.  But  do  not  generally  object  to  the  principle  of  law. 

0. — Yes;  I generally  object  to  the  principle  of  law  as  applied 
to  minor  things;  because,  if  you  could  succeed  (which  you  can- 


ADDENDA. 


97 


not)  in  regulating  the  entire  conduct  of  men  by  law  in  little  things 
as  well  as  great,  you  would  take  away  from  Imman  life  all  its  pro- 
bationary character,  and  render  many  virtues  and  pleasures  impos- 
sible. You  would  reduce  virtue  to  the  movement  of  a machine, 
instead  of  the  act  of  a spirit. 

i?. — You  have  just  said,  parenthetically,  and  I fully  and  will- 
ingly admit  it,  that  it  is  impossible  to  regulate  all  minor  matters 
by  law.  Is  it  not  probable,  therefore,  that  the  degree  in  which  it 
is  possible  to  regulate  them  by  it,  is  also  the  degree  in  which  it  is 
right  to  regulate  them  by  it?  Or  what  other  means  of  judgment  " 
will  you  employ,  to  separate  the  things  which  ought  to  be  for- 
mally regulated  from  the  things  which  ought  not?  You  admit 
that  great  sins  should  be  legally  repressed ; but  you  say  that  small 
sins  should  not  be  legally  repressed.  How  do  you  distinguish 
between  great  and  small  sins ; and  how  do  you  intend  to  deter- 
mine, or  do  you  in  practice  of  daily  life  determine,  on  what  occa- 
sion you  should  compel  people  to  do  right,  and  on  what  occasion 
you  should  leave  them  the  option  of  doing  wrong  ? 

0. — I think  you  cannot  make  any  accurate  or  logical  distinc- 
tion in  such  matters;  but  that  common  sense  and  instinct  have,  in 
all  civilized  nations,  indicated  certain  crimes  of  great  social  harm- 
fulness, such  as  murder,  theft,  adultery,  slander,  and  such  like, 
which  it  is  proper  to  repress  legally ; and  that  common  sense  and 
instinct  indicate  also  the  kind  of  crimes  which  it  is  proper  for 
laws  to  let  alone,  such  as  miserliness,  ill-natured  speaking,  and 
many  of  those  commercial  dishonesties  which  I have  a notion  you 
want  your  paternal  government  to  interfere  with. 

R. — Pray  do  not  alarm  yourself  about  what  my  paternal  go- 
vernment is  likely  to  inteifere  with,  but  keep  to  the  matter  in 
hand.  You  say  that  “ common  sense  and  instinct”  have,  in  all 
civilized  nations,  distinofuished  between  the  sins  that  ouo;ljt  to  be 
legally  dealt  with  and  that  ought  not.  Do  you  mean  that  the 
laws  of  all  civilized  nations  are  perfect? 

0. — Xo ; certainly  not. 

R. — Or  that  they  are  perfect  at  least  in  their  discrimination  of 
what  crimes  they  should  deal  with,  and  what  crimes  they  should 
let  alone  ? 


08 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART, 


0. — No ; not  exactly. 

R. — What  do  you  mean  then  ? 

0. — I mean  that  the  general  tendency  is  right  in  the  laws  of 
civilized  nations ; and  that,  in  due  course  of  time,  natural  sense 
and  instinct  point  out  the  matters  they  should  he  brought  to  bear 
upon.  And  each  question  of  legislation  must  be  made  a separate 
subject  of  inquiry  as  it  presents  itself : you  cannot  fix  any  general 
principles  about  what  should  be  dealt  with  legally,  and  what 
should  not. 

R. — Supposing  it  to  be  so,  do  you  think  there  are  any  points 
in  which  our  English  legislation  is  capable  of  amendment,  as  it 
bears  on  commercial  and  economical  matters,  in  this  present  time  ? 

0. — Of  course  I do. 

R. — Well,  then,  let  us  discuss  these  together  quietly;  and  if  the 
points  that  I want  amended  seem  to  you  incapable  of  amendment, 
or  not  in  need  of  amendment,  say  so  ; but  donh  object,  at  starting, 
to  the  mere  proposition  of  applying  law  to  things  which  have  not 
had  law  applied  to  them  before.  You  have  admitted  the  fitness 
of  my  expression,  “ paternal  government it  only  has  been, 
and  remains  a question  between  us,  how  far  such  government 
should  extend.  Perhaps  you  would  like  it  only  to  regulate,  among 
the  children,  the  length  of  their  lessons ; and  perhaps  I should  like 
it  also  to  regulate  the  hardness  of  their  cricket-balls : but  cannot 
vou  wait  quietly  till  you  know  what  I want  it  to  do,  before  quar- 
relling with  the  thing  itself? 

0. — No;  I cannot  Avait  quietly  : in  fact  I don’t  see  any  use  in 
beginning  such  a discussion  at  all,  because  I am  quite  sure  from 
tlie  first,  that  you  want  to  meddle  with  things  that  you  have  no 
business  with,  and  to  interfere  with  healthy  liberty  of  action  in  all 
soi'ts  of  ways;  and  I knoAV  that  you  can’t  propose  any  laws  that 
would  be  of  real  use.'^ 

* If  llic  reader  is  displeased  with  me  for  putting  this  foolish  speech  into 
his  mf)uth,  T entreat  his  jjardon  ; Init  he  may  be  assured  that  it  is  a speech 
which  would  be  made  l)y  many  people,  and  the  substance  of  which  would  be 
tacitly  felt  by  many  more,  at  this  i)oint  of  the  discussion.  I have  really 
tried,  up  to  this  point,  to  make  the  objector  as  intelligent  a person  as  it  is 
po.ssil'le  for  an  author  to  imagine  anybody  to  be,  who  differs  with  him. 


ADDENDA. 


99 


R. — If  yon  indeed  know  that,  yon  Avonld  be  wrong  to  hear  me 
any  farther.  But  if  yon  are  only  in  painful  doubt  about  me,  which 
makes  yon  unwilling  to  run  the  risk  .of  wasting  yonr  time,  I will 
tell  yon  beforehand  what  I really  do  think  abont  this  same  liberty 
of  action,  namely,  that  whenever  we  can  make  a perfectly  eqnita- 
ble  law  abont  any  matter,  or  even  a law  seenring,  on  the  whole, 
more  jnst  conduct  than  nnjnst,  we  ought  to  make  that  law ; and 
that  there  will  yet,  on  these  conditions,  ahvays  remain  a nnmber 
of  matters  respecting  which  legalism  and  formalism  are  impossible  ; 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  exercise  all  human  powers  of 
individual  judgment,  and  afford  all  kinds  of  scope  to  individnal 
character.  I think  this ; but  of  course  it  can  only  be  proved  by 
separate  examination  of  the  possibilities  of  formal  restraint  in  each 
given  field  of  action  ; and  these  two  lectures  arc  nothing  more 
than  a sketch  of  snch  a detailed  examination  in  one  field,  namely, 
that  of  art.  Yon  will  find,  however,  one  or  two  other  remarks  on 
snch  possibilities  in  the  next  note. 


Note  2nd,  p.  22. — “ Right  to  piiblic  support^ 

It  did  not'  appear  to  me  desirable,  in  the  conrse  of  the  spoken 
lecture,  to  enter  into  details  or  offer  suggestions  on  the  questions 
of  the  regulation  of  labour  and  distribution  of  relief,  as  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  do  so  without  tonching  on  many  dispnted 
or  disputable  points,  not  easily  handled  before  a general  audience. 
Bnt  I mnst  now  supply  what  is  wanting  to  make  my  general 
statement  clear. 

I believe,  in  the  first  place,  that  no  Christian  nation  has  any 
business  to  see  one  of  its  members  in  distress  without  helping  him, 
though,  perhaps,  at  the  same  time  punishing  him  : help,  of  course 
— in  nine  cases  out  of  ten — meaning  guidance,  much  more  than 
gift,  and,  therefore,  interference  with  liberty.  When  a peasant 
mother  sees  one  of  her  carelevss  children  fall  into  a ditch,  her  first 
proceeding  is  to  pull  him  out ; her  second,  to  box  his  ears ; her 
third,  ordinarily,  to  lead  him  carefully  a little  way  by  the  hand, 


100 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


or  send  liim  home  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  child  usually 
cries,  and  very  often  would  clearly  prefer-  remaining  in  the  ditch ; 
and  if  he  understood  any  of  the  terms  of  politics,  would  certainly 
express  resentment  at  the  interference  with  his  individual  liberty : 
but  the  mother  has  done  her  duty.  Whereas  the  usual  call  of  the 
mother  nation  to  any  of  her  children,  under  such  circumstances, 
has  lately  been  nothing  more  than  the  foxhunter’s, — “ Stay  still 
there ; I shall  clear  you.”  And  if  we  always  could  clear  them, 
their  requests  to  be  left  in  muddy  independenee  might  be  some- 
times allowed  by  kind  people,  or  their  cries  for  help  disdained  by 
unkind  ones.  But  we  can’t  clear  them.  The  whole  nation  is,  in 
fsxct,  bound  together,  as  men  are  by  ropes  on  a glacier — if  one 
falls,  the  rest  must  either  lift  him  or  drag  him  along  with  them^ 
as  dead  weight,  not  without  much  increase  of  danger  to  themselves. 
And  the  law  of  right  being  manifestly  in  this,  as,  whether  mani- 
festly or  not,  it  is  always,  the  law  of  prudence,  the  only  question 
is,  how  this  wholesome  help  and  interference  are  to  be  adminis- 
tered. 

The  first  interference  should  be  in  education.  In  order  that 
men  may  be  able  to  support  themselves  when  they  are  grown, 
their  strength  must  be  properly  developed  while  they  are  young; 
,'ind  the  state  should  always  see  to  this — not  allowing  their  health 
to  be  broken  by  too  early  labour,  nor  their  powers  to  be  wasted 
for  want  of  knowledge.  Some  questions  connected  with  this 
matter  are  noticed  farther  on  under  the  head  “trial  schools one 
point  I must  notice  here,  that  I believe  all  youths  of  whatever 
rank,  ought  to  learn  some  manual  trade  thoroughly ; for  it  is  quite 
wonderful  how  much  a man’s  views  of  life  ai'e  cleared  by  the 
attainment  of  the  capacity  of  doing  any  one  thing  well  with  his 
liands  and  arms.  For  a long  time,  what  right  life  there  was  in  the 
u))pcr  classes  of  Europe  depended  in  no  small  degree  on  the 

* Jt  is  very  curious  to  watcii  the  efforts  of  two  shopkeepers  to  ruin  each 
otlicr,  neither  having  tlie  least  idea  that  his  mined  neighbour  must  eventually 
be  su{)ported  at  his  own  expense,  with  an  increase  of  poor  rates;  and  that 
the  contest  between  them  is  not  in  reality  which  shall  get  everything  for 
liimsclf,  but  which  sliall  first  take  upon  himself  and  his  customers  the  gratui- 
tous maintenance  of  tho  other’s  family. 


ADDENDA. 


101 


necessity  wliich  each  man  was  under  of  being  able  to  fence ; at 
this  day,  the  most  useful  things  which  boys  learn  at  public  schools 
are,  I believe,  riding,  rowing,  and  cricketing.  But  it  would  be  far 
better  that  members  of  Parliament  should  be  able  to  plough 
straight,  and  make  a horseshoe,  than  only  to  feather  oars  neatly 
or  point  their  toes  prettily  in  stirrups.  Then,  in  literary  and 
scientific  teaching,  the  great  point  of  economy  is  to  give  the  dis- 
cipline of  it  through  knowledge  which  will  immediately  bear  on 
practical  life.  Our  literary  w^ork  has  long  been  economically 
useless  to  us  because  too  much  concerned  with  dead  languages ; 
and  our  scientific  work  will  yet,  for  some  time,  be  a good  deal  lost, 
because  scientific  men  are  too  fond  or  too  vain  of  their  systems, 
and  waste  the  student’s  time  in  endeavouring  to  give  him  large 
views,  and  make  him  perceive  interesting  connections  of  facts; 
when  there  is  not  one  student,  no,  nor  one  man,  in  a thousand, 
wPo  can  feel  the  beauty  of  a s}"stem,  or  even  take  it  clearly  into 
his  head ; but  nearly  all  men  can  understand,  and  most  will  be 
interested  in,  the  facts  which  bear  on  daily  life.  Botanists  have 
discovered  some  wonderful  connection  between  nettles  and  figs, 
which  a cowboy  who  will  never  see  a ripe  fig  in  his  life  need  not 
be  at  all  troubled  about ; but  it  will  be  interesting  to  him  to  know 
what  effect  nettles  have  on  hay,  and  what  taste  they  will  give  to 
porridge  ; and  it  will  give  him  nearly  a new  life  if  he  can  be  got 
but  once,  in  a spring-time,  to  look  well  at  the  beautiful  circlet  of 
the  w'hite  nettle  blossom,  and  work  out  with  his  schoolmaster  the 
curves  of  its  petals,  and  the  way  it  is  set  on  its  central  mast.  So, 
the  principle  of  chemical  equivalents,  beautiful  as  it  is,  matters  far 
less  to  a peasant  boy,  and  even  to  most  sons  of  gentlemen,  than  their 
knowing  how'  to  find  whether  the  \vater  is  wholesome  in  the  back- 
kitchen  cistern,  or  whether  the  seven-acre  field  wants  sand  or  chalk. 

Having,  then,  directed  the  studies  of  our  youth  so  as  to  make 
them  practically  serviceable  men  at  the  time  of  their  entrance  into 
life,  that  entrance  should  always  be  ready  for  them  in  cases  where 
their  private  circumstances  present  no  opening.  There  ought  to 
be  government  establishments  for  every  trade,  in  which  all  youths 
who  desired  it  should  be  received  as  apprentices  on  their  leaving- 
school  ; and  men  thrown  out  of  work  received  at  all  times.  At 


102 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


these  government  manufactories  the  discipline  should  be  strict, 
and  the  wages  steady,  not  varying  at  all  in  proportion  to  the 
demand  for  the  article,  but  only  in  proportion  to  the  price  of  food  ; 
the  commodities  produced  being  laid  up  in  store  to  meet  sudden 
demands,  and  sudden  fluctuations  in  prices  prevented  : — that  gra- 
dual and  necessary  fluctuation  only  being  allowed  which  is  pro- 
perly consequent  on  larger  or  more  limited  supply  of  raw  material 
and  other  natural  causes.  When  there  was  a visible  tendency  to 
produce  a glut  of  any  commodiliy,  that  tendency  should  be  checked 
by  directing  the  youth  at  the  government  schools  into  other 
trades ; and  the  yearly  surplus  of  commodities  should  be  the  prin- 
cipal means  of  government  provision  for  the  poor.  That  provision 
should  be  large,  and  not  disgraceful  to  them.  At  present  there 
are  very  strange  notions  in  the  public  mind  respecting  the  receiv- 
ing of  alms : most  people  are  willing  to  take  them  in  the  form  of 
a pension  from  government,  but  unwilling  to  take  them  in  the  form 
of  a pension  from  their  parishes.  There  may  be  some  reason  for  this 
singular  prejudice,  in  the  fact  of  the  government  pension  being 
usually  given  as  a deflnite  acknowledgment  of  some  service  done 
to  the  country; — but  the  parish  pension  is,  or  ought  to  be,  given 
precisely  on  the  same  terms.  A labourer  serves  his  country  with 
his  spade,  just  as  a man  in  the  middle  ranks  of  life  serves  it  with 
his  sword,  pen,  or  lancet ; if  the  service  is  less,  and  therefore  the 
wages  during  health  less,  then  the  reward,  when  health  is  broken, 
may  be  less,  but  not,  therefore,  less  honourable ; and  it  ought  to 
be  quite  as  natural  and  straightforward  a matter  for  a labourer  to 
take  his  pension  from  his  parish,  because  he  has  deserved  well  of 
his  parish,  as  for  a man  in  higher  rank  to  take  his  pension  from  * 
his  country,  because  he  has  deserved  well  of  his  country.  If  there 
be  any  disgrace  in  coming  to  the  parish,  because  it  may  imply 
improvidence  in  early  life,  much  more  is  there  disgrace  in  coming 
to  the  government ; since  improvidence  is  far  less  justiflable  in  a 
liighly  educated  tlian  in  an  imperfectly  educated  man;  and  far 
less  justiflable  in  a high  rank,  where  extravagance  must  have  been 
luxury,  than  in  a low  rank,  where  it  may  only  have  been  comfort. 

So  that  the  real  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  people  will  take  alms 
delightedly,  consisting  of  a carriage  and  footmen,  because  those 


ADDENDA. 


103 


do  not  look  like  alms  to  the  people  in  the  street ; but  they  will 
not  take  alms  consisting  only  of  bread  and  water  and  coals, 
because  everybody  would  understand  what  those  meant.  Mind, 
I do  not  want  any  one  to  refuse  the  carriage  who  ought  to  have 
it;  but  neither  do  I want  them  to  refuse  the  coals.  I should 
indeed  be  sorry  if  any  change  in  our  views  on  these  subjects 
involved  the  least  lessening  of  self-dependence  in  the  English 
mind  ; but  the  common  shrinking  of  men  from  the  acceptance  of 
public  charity  is  not  self-dependence,  but  mere  base  and  selfish 
pride.  It  is  not  that  they  are  unwilling  to  live  at  their  neighbours’ 
expense,  but  that  they  are  unwilling  to  confess  they  do  ; it  is  not 
dependence  they  wish  to  avoid,  but  gratitude.  They  will  take 
places  in  which  they  know  there  is  nothing  to  be  done — they  will 
borrow  money  they  know  they  cannot  repay — they  will  carry  on 
a losing  business  with  other  people’s  capital — they  will  cheat  the 
public  in  their  shops,  or  sponge  on  their  friends  at  their  houses ; 
but  to  say  plainly  they  are  poor  men,  who  need  the  nation’s  help, 
and  go  into  an  almshouse — this  they  loftily  repudiate,  and  virtu- 
ously prefer  being  thieves  to  being  paupers. 

I trust  that  these  deceptive  efforts  of  dishonest  men  to  appear 
independent,  and  the  agonizing  efforts  of  unfortunate  men  to 
remain  independent,  may  both  be  in  some  degree  checked  by  a 
better  administration  and  undei*standing  of  laws  respecting  the 
poor.  But  the  ordinances  for  relief  and  the  ordinances  for  labour 
must  go  together ; otherwise  distress  caiLsed  by  misfortune  will 
always  be  confounded,  as  it  is  now,  with  distress  caused  by  idleness, 
unthrift,  and  fraud.  It  is  only  when  the  state  watches  and  guides 
the  middle  life  of  men,  that  it  can,  without  disgrace  to  them,  pro- 
tect their  old  age,  acknowledging  in  that  protection  that  they 
have  done  their  duty,  or  at  least  some  portion  of  their  duty,  in 
better  days. 

I know  well  how  strange,  fanciful,  or  impracticable  these  sug- 
gestions will  appear  to  most  of  the  business  men  of  this  day ; men 
who  conceive  the  proper  state  of  the  world  to  be  simply  that  of  a 
vast  and  disorganized  mob,  scrambling  each  for  what  he  can  get, 
trampling  down  its  children  and  old  men  in  the  mire,  and  doing 
what  work  it  finds  must  be  done  with  any  irregular  squad  of  labour- 


104 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


ers  it  can  bribe  or  inveigle  together,  and  afterwards  scatter  to  star- 
vation. A great  deal  may,  indeed,  be  done  in  this  way  by  a nation 
strong-elbowed  and  strong-hearted  as  we  are — not  easily  frightened 
by  pushing,  nor  discouraged  by  falls.  But  it  is  still  not  the  right 
way  of  doing  things,  for  people  who  call  themselves  Christians. 
Every  so  named  soul  of  man  claims  from  every  other  such  soul, 
protection  and  education  in  childhood — help  or  punishment  in 
middle  life — reward  or  relief,  if  needed,  in  old  age ; all  of  these 
should  be  completely  and  unstintingly  given,  and  they  can  only  be 
given  by  the  organization  of  such  a system  as  I have  described. 


Note  3rd,  p.  25. — “ Trial  SchoohT 

It  may  be  seriously  questioned  by  the  reader  how  much  of  paint- 
ing talent  we  really  lose  on  our  present  system,'^'  and  how  much 

* It  will  be  observed  that,  in  the  lecture,  it  is  asswmeJ  that  works  of  art  are 
national  treasures ; and  that  it  is  desirable  to  withdraw  all  the  hands  capable 
of  painting  or  carving  from  other  employments,  in  order  that  they  may  pro- 
duce this  kind  of  wealth.  I do  not,  in  assuming  this,  mean  that  works  of  art 
add  to  the  monetary  resources  of  a nation,  or  form  part  of  its  wealth,  in  the 
vulgar  sense.  The  result  of  the  sale  of  a picture  in  the  country  itself  is 
merely  that  a certain  sum  of  money  is  transferred  from  the  hands  of  B.  the 
purchaser,  to  those  of  A.  the  producer ; the  sum  ultimately  to  be  distributed 
remaining  the  same,  only  A.  ultimately  spending  it  instead  of  B.,  while  the 
labour  of  A.  has  been  in  the  meantime  withdrawn  from  productive  channels ; 
ho  has  painted  a picture  which  nobody  can  live  upon,  or  live  in,  when  he 
might  have  grown  corn  or  built  houses : when  the  sale  therefore  is  effected 
in  the  country  itself,  it  does  not  add  to,  but  diminishes,  the  monetary  resources 
of  the  country,  except  only  so  far  as  it  may  appear  probable,  on  other  grounds, 
that  A.  is  likely  to  spend  the  sum  ho  receives  for  his  picture  more  rationally 
and  usefully  than  B.  would  have  spent  it.  If,  indeed,  the  picture,  or  otlter 
work  of  art,  bo  sold  in  foreign  countries,  either  the  money  or  the  useful  pro- 
ducts of  the  foreign  country  being  imported  in  exchange  for  it,  such  sale  adds 
to  the  monetary  resources  of  the  selling,  and  diminishes  those  of  the  purchas- 
ing nation.  But  sound  political  economy,  strange  as  it  may  at  first  appear  to 
say  so,  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  separations  between  national  inter- 
ests. I’olitical  economy  means  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  citizens;  and 
it  either  regards  exclusively  the  administration  of  the  affairs  of  one  nation,  or 
the  administration  of  the  afiairs  of  the  world  considered  as  one  nation.  So 


ADDENDA. 


105 


we  should  gain  by  the  proposed  trial  schools.  For  it  might  be 
thought,  that  as  matters  stand  at  present,  we  have  more  painters 
than  we  ought  to  have,  having  so  many  bad  ones,  and  that  all  youths 
who  had  true  painters’  genius  forced  their  way  out  of  obscurity. 

when  a transaction  between  individuals  which  enriches  A.,  impoverishes  B. 
in  precisely  the  same  degree,  the  sound  economist  considers  it  an  unproduc- 
tive transaction  between  the  individuals ; and  if  a trade  between  two  nations 
which  enriches  one,  impoverishes  the  other  in  the  same  degree,  the  sound 
economist  considers  it  an  unproductive  trade  between  the  nations.  It  is 
not  a general  question  of  political  economy,  but  otdy  a particular  question 
of  local  expediency,  whether  an  article  in  itself  valueless,  may  bear  a value 
of  exchange  in  transactions  with  some  other  nation.  The  economist  con- 
siders only  the  actual  value  of  the  thing  done  or  produced ; and  if  he  sees  a 
quantity  of  labour  spent,  for  instance,  by  the  Swiss,  in  producing  woodwork 
for  sale  to  the  English,  he  at  once  sets  the  commercial  impoverishment  of  the 
English  purchaser  against  the  commercial  enrichment  of  the  Swiss  seller ; and 
considers  the  whole  transaction  productive  only  so  far  as  the  woodwork  itself  is  a 
real  addition  to  the  wealth  of  the  world.  For  the  arrangement  of  the  laws  of  a 
nation  so  as  to  procure  the  greatest  advantages  to  itself,  and  leave  the  smallest 
advantages  to  other  nations,  is  not  a part  of  the  science  of  political  economy, 
but  merely  a broad  application  of  the  science  of  fraud.  Considered  thus  in 
the  abstract,  pictures  are  not  an  addition  to  the  monetary  wealth  of  the  world, 
except  in  the  amount  of  pleasure  or  instruction  to  be  got  out  of  them  day  by 
day : but  there  is  a certain  protective  effect  on  wealth  exercised  by  works 
of  high  art  which  must  always  be  included  in  the  estimate  of  their  value. 
Generally  speaking,  persons  who  decorate  their  houses  with  pictures,  will 
not  spend  so  much  money  in  papers,  carpets,  curtains,  or  other  expensive  and 
perishable  luxuries  as  they  would  otherwise.  Works  of  good  art,  like  books, 
exercise  a conservative  effect  on  the  rooms  they  are  kept  in  ; and  the  wall 
of  the  library  or  picture  gallery  remains  undisturbed,  when  those  of  other 
rooms  are  re-papered  or  re-panelled.  Of  course  this  effect  is  still  more  defi- 
nite when  the  picture  is  on  the  walls  themselves,  either  on  canvass  stretched 
into  fixed  shapes  on  their  panels,  or  in  fresco ; involving,  of  course,  the  pre- 
servation of  the  building  from  all  unnecessary  and  capricious  alteration.  And 
generally  speaking,  the  occupation  of  a large  number  of  hands  in  painting  or 
sculpture  in  any  nation  may  be  considered  as  tending  to  check  the  disposition 
to  indulge  in  perishable  luxury.  I do  not,  however,  in  my  assumption  that 
works  of  art  are  treasures,  take  much  into  consideration  this  collateral  mone- 
tary result.  I consider  them  treasures,  merely  as  a permanent  means  of 
pleasure  and  instruction ; and  having  at  other  times  tried  to  show  the  several 
ways  in  which  they  can  please  and  teach,  assume  here  that  they  are  thus  use- 
fiil ; and  that  it  is  desirable  to  make  as  many  painters  as  we  can. 

6^ 


100 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OE  ART. 


This  is  not  so.  It  is  difficult  to  analyse  the  characters  of  mind 
which  cause  youths  to  mistake  their  vocation,  and  to  endeavour  to 
become  artists,  when  they  have  no  true  artist’s  gift.  But  the  fact 
is,  tliat  multitudes  of  young  men  do  this,  and  that  by  far  the 
greater  number  of  living  artists  are  men  who  have  mistaken  their 
vocation.  The  peculiar  circumstances  of  modern  life,  which  exhi- 
bit art  in  almost  every  form  to  the  sight  of  the  youths  in  our  great 
cities,  have  a natural  tendency  to  fill  their  imao-inations  with  bor- 
rowed  ideas,  and  their  minds  with  imperfect  science ; the  mere  dis- 
like of  mechanical  employments,  either  felt  to  be  irksome,  or 
believed  to  be  degrading,  urges  numbers  of  young  men  to  become 
painters,  in  the  same  temper  in  which  they  would  enlist  or  go  to 
sea  ; others,  the  sons  of  engravers  or  artists,  taught  the  business  of 
the  art  by  their  parents,  and  having  no  gift  for  it  themselves,  follow 
it  as  the  means  of  livelihood,  in  an  ignoble  patience  ; or,  if  ambi- 
tious, seek  to  attract  regard,  or  distance  rivalry,  by  fantastic,  mere- 
tricious, or  unprecedented  applications  of  their  mechanical  skill ; 
while  finally,  many  men  earnest  in  feeling,  and  conscientious  in 
principle,  mistake  their  desire  to  be  useful  for  a love  of  art,  and 
their  quickness  of  emotion  for  its  capacit}q  and  pass  their  lives  in 
painting  moral  and  instructive  pictures,  which  might  almost  justify 
us  in  thinking  nobody  could  be  a painter  but  a rogue.  On  the 
other  hand,  I believe  that  much  of  the  best  artistical  intellect  is 
daily  lost  in  other  avocations.  Generally,  the  temper  which  would 
make  an  admirable  artist  is  humble  and  observant,  capable  of 
taking  much  interest  in  little  things,  and  of  entertaining  itself 
yileasantly  in  the  dullest  circumstances.  Suppose,  added  to  these 
characters,  a steady  conscientiousness  which  seeks  to  do  its  duty 
wherever  it  may  be  placed,  and  the  power,  denied  to  few  artistical 
minds,  of  ingenious  invention  in  almost  any  practical  department 
of  human  skill,  and  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  the  very 
humility  and  conscientiousness  which  would  have  perfected  the 
painter,  have  in  many  instances  prevented  his  becoming  one; 
and  that  in  the  quiet  life  of  our  steady  craftsmen — sagacious  manu- 
facturers, and  uncom})laining  clerks — there  may  frequently  be  con- 
cealed moi'e  genius  than  ever  is  raised  to  the  direction  of  our  pub- 
lic works,  or  to  be  the  maik  of  our  public  praises. 


ADDENDA. 


107 


It  is  indeed  probable,  that  intense  disposition  for  art  will  con- 
quer tlie  most  formidable  obstacles,  if  the  surrounding  circumstances 
are  such  as  at  all  to  present  the  idea  of  such  conquest  to  the  mind ; 
but  we  have  no  ground  for  concluding  that  Giotto  would  ever  have 
been  more  than  a shepherd,  if  Cimabue  had  not  by  chance  found 
him  drawing;  or  that  among  the  shepherds  of  the  Apennines  there 
were  no  other  Giottos,  undiscovered  by  Cimabue.  We  are  too 
much  in  the  habit  of  considering  happy  accidents  as  what  are 
called  “ special  Providences and  thinking  that  when  any  great 
work  needs  to  be  done,  the  man  who  is  to  do  it  will  certainly  be 
pointed  out  by  Providence,  be  he  shepherd  or  sea-boy  ; and  pre- 
pared for  his  w'ork  by  all  kinds  of  minor  providences,  in  the  best 
possible  way.  Whereas  all  the  analogies  of  God’s  operations  in 
other  matters  prove  the  contrary  of  this ; we  find  that  “ of 
thousand  seeds,  He  often  brings  but  one  to  bear,”  often  not  one ; 
and  the  one  seed  which  He  appoints  to  bear  is  allowed  to  bear 
crude  or  perfect  fruit  according  to  the  dealings  of  the  husbandman 
with  it.  And  there  cannot  be  a doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  person 
accustomed  to  take  broad  and  logical  views  of  the  world’s  history, 
that  its  events  are  ruled  by  Providence  in  precisely  the  same  man- 
ner as  its  harvests  ; that  the  seeds  of  good  and  evil  are  broadcast 
among  men,  just  as  the  seeds  of  thistles  and  fruits  are ; and  that 
according  to  the  force  of  our  industry,  and  wisdom  of  our  hus- 
bandry, the  ground  will  bring  forth  to  us  figs  or  thistles.  So  that 
wPen  it  seems  needed  that  a certain  work  should  be  done  for  the 
world,  and  no  man  is  there  to  do  it,  we  have  no  right  to  say  that 
God  did  not  wish  it  to  be  done ; and  therefore  sent  no  man  able 
to  do  it.  The  probability  (if  I wrote  my  own  convictions,  I 
should  say  certainty)  is,  that  He  sent  many  men,  hundreds  of  men, 
able  to  do  it;  and  that  we  have  rejected  them,  or  crushed  them ; 
by  our  previous  folly  of  conduct  or  of  institution,  we  have  rendered 
it  impossible  to  distinguish,  or  impossible  to  reach  them ; and 
when  the  need  for  them  comes,  and  we  suffer  for  the  want  of 
them,  it  is  not  that  God  refuses  to  send  us  deliverers,  and  specially 
appoints  all  our  consequent  sufferings ; but  that  Pie  has  sent,  and 
we  have  refused,  the  deliverers ; and  the  pain  is  then  wrought  out 
by  His  eternal  law,  as  surely  as  famine  is  wrought  out  by  eternal 


108 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


law  for  a nation  which  will  neither  plough  nor  sow.  No  less  are 
we  in  error  in  supposing,  as  w’e  so  frequently  do,  that  if  a jinan  be 
found,  he  is  sure  to  be  in  all  respects  fitted  for  the  work  to  be 
done,  as  the  key  is  to  the  lock  : and  that  every  accident  w'hich 
happened  in  the  forging  him,  only  adapted  him  more  truly  to  the 
wards.  It  is  pitiful  to  hear  historians  beguiling  themselves  and 
their  readers,  by  tracing  in  the  early  histoiy  of  great  men,  the 
minor  circumstances  w'hich  fitted  them  for  the  work  they  did, 
w’ithout  ever  taking  notice  of  the  other  circumstances  wdiich  as 
assuredly  unfitted  them  for  it ; so  concluding  that  miraculous  in- 
terposition prepared  them  in  all  points  for  everything,  and  that 
they  did  all  that  could  have  been  desired  or  hoped  for  from  them : 
whereas  the  certainty  of  the  matter  is  that,  throughout  their  lives, 
they  w'ere  thwarted  and  corrupted  by  some  things  as  certainly  as 
they  were  helped  and  disciplined  by  others;  and  that,  in  the 
kindliest  and  most  reverent  view  which  can  justly  be  taken  of 
them,  they  were  but  poor  mistaken  creatures,  struggling  with  a 
Avorld  more  profoundly  mistaken  than  they ; — assuredly  sinned 
against,  or  sinning  in  thousands  of  ways,  and  bringing  out  at  last 
a maimed  result — not  what  they  might  or  ought  to  have  done, 
but  all  that  could  be  done  against  the  world’s  resistance,  and  in 
spite  of  their  own  sorrow'ful  falsehood  to  themselves. 

And  this  being  so,  it  is  the  practical  duty  of  a wise  nation,  first 
to  withdraw,  as  far  as  may  be,  its  youth  from  destructive  influ- 
ences ; — then  to  tiy  its  material  as  far  as  possible,  and  to  lose  the 
use  of  none  that  is  good.  I do  not  mean  by  “ withdrawing  from 
destructive  influences”  the  keeping  of  youths  out  of  trials;  but 
the  kee})ing  them  out  of  the  ^vay  of  things  purely  and  absolutely 
mischievous.  1 do  not  mean  that  we  should  shade  our  green  corn 
in  all  heat,  and  shelter  it  in  all  frost,  bnt  only  that  we  should 
dyke  out  the  inundation  from  it,  and  drive  the  fowls  aw'ay  from 
it.  Let  your  youth  labour  and  suffer ; but  do  not  let  it  starve, 
nor  steal,  nor  blaspheme. 

It  is  not,  of course,  in  my  pow'erhereto  enter  into  details  of  schemes 
of  education  ; and  it  will  be  long  before  the  results  of  experiments 
now  in  progress  will  give  data  for  the  solution  of  the  most  difficult 
(|uestions  connected  with  the  subject,  of  which  the  principal  one  is 


ADDENDA. 


109 


the  mode  in  which  the  chance  of  advancement  in  life  is  to  he  ex- 
tended to  all,  and  yet  made  compatible  with  contentment  in  the 
pursuit  of  lower  avocations  by  those  whose  abilities  do  not  qualify 
them  for  the  higher.  But  the  general  principle  of  trial  schools 
lies  at  the  root  of  the  matter — of  schools,  that  is  to  say,  in  which 
the  knowledge  offered  and  discipline  enforced  shall  be  all  a part 
of  a great  assay  of  the  human  sonl,  and  in  which  the  one  shall  be 
increased,  the  other  directed,  as  the  tried  heart  and  brain  will  best 
bear,  and  no  otherwise.  One  thing,  however,  I must  say,  that  in 
this  trial  I believe  all  emulation  to  be  a false  motive,  and  all  giv- 
ing  of  prizes  a false  means.  All  that  you  can  depend  upon  in  a 
boy,  as  significative  of  true  power,  likely  to  issue  in  good  fruit,  is 
his  will  to  work  for  the  work’s  sake,  not  his  desire  to  surpass  his 
school-fellows ; and  the  aim  of  the  teaching  you  give  him  ought  to 
be,  to  prove  to  him  and  strengthen  in  him  his  own  separate  gift, 
not  to  puff  him  into  swollen  rivalry  with  those  who  are  everlast- 
ingly greater  than  he : still  less  ought  you  to  hang  favours  and 
ribands  about  the  neck  of  the  creature  who  is  the  greatest,  to  make 
the  rest  envy  him.  Try  to  make  them  love  him  and  follow  him, 
not  struggle  with  him. 

There  must,  of  course,  be  examination  to  ascertain  and  attest 
both  progress  and  relative  capacity ; but  our  aim  should  be  to  make 
the  students  rather  look  upon  it  as  a means  of  ascertaining  their 
own  true  positions  and  powers  in  the  world,  than  as  an  arena  in 
which  to  carry  away  a present  victory.  I have  not,  perhaps,  in 
the  course  of  the  lecture,  insisted  enough  on  the  nature  of  relative 
capacity  and  individual  character,  as  the  roots  of  all  real  value  in 
Art.  AVe  are  too  much  in  the  habit,  in  these  days,  of  acting  as  if 
Art  worth  a price  in  the  market  were  a commodity  which  people 
could  be  generally  taught  to  produce,  and  as  if  the  education  of  the 
artist,  not  his  capacity^  gave  the  sterling  value  to  his  work.  No 
impression  can  possibly  be  more  absurd  or  false.  Whatever  peo- 
ple can  teach  each  other  to  do,  they  will  estimate,  and  ought  to 
estimate,  only  as  common  industry  ; nothing  will  ever  fetch  a high 
price  but  precisely  that  which  cannot  be  taught,  and  which  nobody 
can  do  but  the  man  from  whom  it  is  purchased.  No  state  of 
society,  nor  stage  of  knowledge,  ever  does  away  with  the  natural 


no 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


pre-eminence  of  one  man  over  anotlier;  and  it  is  that  pre-emi- 
nence, and  that  only,  which  will  give  work  high  value  in  the  mar- 
ket, or  which  ought  to  do  so.  It  is  a had  sign  of  the  judgment, 
and  bad  omen  for  the  progress,  of  a nation,  if  it  supposes  itself  to 
possess  many  artists  of  equal  merit.  Noble  art  is  nothing  less  than 
the  expression  of  a great  soul ; and  great  souls  are  not  common 
things.  If  ever  we  confound  their  work  with  that  of  others,  it  is 
not  through  liberality,  but  through  blindness. 


Note  4th,  p.  26. — '■'‘Public  favour P 

There  is  great  difficulty  in  making  any  short  or  general  state- 
ment of  the  difference  between  great  and  ignoble  minds  in  their 
behaviour  to  the  “ public.”  It  is  by  no  means  universally  the  case 
that  a mean  mind,  as  stated  in  the  text,  will  bend  itself  to  what 
you  ask  of  it : on  the  contrary,  there  is  one  kind  of  mind,  the 
meanest  of  all,  which  perpetually  complains  of  the  public,  contem- 
plates and  proclaims  itself  as  a “ genius,”  refuses  all  wholesome  dis- 
cipline or  humble  office,  and  ends  in  miserable  and  revengeful  ruin ; 
also,  the  greatest  minds  are  marked  by  nothing  more  distinctly 
than  an  inconceivable  humility,  and  acceptance  of  work  or  instruc- 
tion in  any  form,  and  from  any  quarter.  They  will  learn  from 
everybody,  and  do  anything  that  anybody  asks  of  them,  so  long  as 
it  involves  only  toil,  or  what  other  men  would  think  degradation* 
But  the  point  of  quarrel,  nevertheless,  assuredly  rises  some  day 
between  the  public  and  them,  respecting  some  matter,  not  of  hu- 
miliation, but  of  Fact.  Your  great  man  always  at  last  comes  to 
see  something  the  public  don’t  see.  This  something  he  will 
assuredly  persist  in  asserting,  Avhether  with  tongue  or  pencil,  to  be 
as  he  sees  it,  not  as  they  sec  it ; and  all  the  world  in  a heap  on  the 
other  side,  will  not  get  him  to  say  otherwise.  Then,  if  the  world 
objects  to  the  saying,  he  may  happen  to  get  stoned  or  burnt  for  it, 
but  that  does  not  in  the  least  matter  to  him : if  the  world  has  no 
particular  objection  to  the  saying,  he  may  get  leave  to  mutter  it  to 
himself  till  he  dies,  and  be  merely  taken  for  an  idiot;  that  also 
docs  not  matter  to  him — mutter  it  he  will,  according  to  what  he 


ADDENDA. 


Ill 


perceives  to  be  fact,  and  not  at  all  according  to  the  roaring  of  the 
walls  of  Red  sea  on  the  right  hand  or  left  of  him.  Hence  the 
quarrel,  sure  at  some  time  or  other,  to  be  started  between  the  pub- 
lic and  him ; while  your  mean  man,  though  he  will  spit  and  scratch 
spiritedly  at  the  public,  while  it  does  not  attend  to  him,  will  bow 
to  it  for  its  clap  in  any  direction,  and  say  anything  when  he  has 
got  its  ear,  which  he  thinks  will  bring  him  another  clap  ; and  thus, 
as  stated  in  the  text,  he  and  it  go  on  smoothly  together. 

There  are,  however,  times  when  the  obstinacy  of  the  mean  man 
looks  very  like  the  obstinacy  of  the  great  one ; but  if  you  look 
closely  into  the  matter,  you  will  always  see  that  the  obstinacy  of 
the  first  is  in  the  pronunciation  of  “ I and  of  the  second,  in  the 
pronunciation  of  “ It.” 


Rote  5th,  p.  41. — “ In'cention  of  new  wantsP 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  political  economists  long  to 
have  endured  the  error  spoken  of  in  the  text,'^'  had  they  not  been 

* I have  given  the  political  economists  too  much  credit  in  saying  this. 
Actually,  while  these  sheets  are  passing  through  the  press,  the  blunt,  broad, 
unmitigated  fallacy  is  enunciated,  formally  and  precisely,  by  the  common 
councilmen  of  Rew  York, 'in  their  report  on  the  present  commercial  crisis. 
Here  is  their  collective  opinion,  published  in  the  Times  of  Rovember  23rd, 
1857  : — “Another  erroneous  idea  is  that  luxurious  living,  extravagant  dress- 
ing, splendid  turn-outs  and  fine  houses,  are  the  cause  of  distress  to  a nation, 
Ro  more  erroneous  impression  could  exist.  Every  extravagance  that  the 
man  of  100,000  or  1,000,000  dollars  indulges  in  adds  to  the  means,  the  sup- 
port, the  wealth  of  ten  or  a hundred  who  had  little  or  nothing  else  but  their 
labour,  their  intellect,  or  their  taste.  If  a man  of  1,000,000  dollars  spends 
principal  and  interest  in  ten  years,  and  finds  himself  beggared  at  the  end  of 
that  time,  he  has  actually  made  a hundred  who  have  catered  to  his  extrava- 
gance, employers  or  employed,  so  much  richer  by  the  division  of  his  wealth. 
He  may  be  ruined,  but  the  nation  is  better  off  and  richer,  for  one  hundred 
minds  and  hands,  with  10,000  dollars  apiece,  are  fur  more  productive  than 
one  with  the  whole.” 

Yes,  gentlemen  of  the  common  council;  but  what  has  been  doing  in  the 
time  of  the  transfer  ? The  spending  of  the  fortune  has  taken  a certain  num- 
ber of  years  (suppose  ten),  and  during  that  time  1,000,000  dollars  worth  of 


112 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


confused  by  an  idea,  in  part  well  founded,  tliat  tbe  energies  and  re- 
finements, as  well  as  the  riches  of  civilized  life,  arose  from  imagin- 
ary wants.  It  is  quite  true,  that  the  savage  who  knows  no  needs 
but  those  of  food,  shelter,  and  sleep,  and  after  he  has  snared  his 
venison  and  patched  the  rents  of  his  hut,  passes  the  rest  of  his 
time  in  animal  repose,  is  in  a lower  state  than  the  man  who  labours 
incessantly  that  he  may  procure  for  himself  the  luxuries  of  civiliza- 
tion ; and  true  also,  that  the  difterence  between  one  and  another 
nation  in  progressive  power  depends  in  great  part  on  vain  desires ; 
but  these  idle  motives  are  merely  to  be  considered  as  giving  exer- 
cise to  the  national  body  and  mind  ; they  are  not  sources  of  wealth, 
except  so  far  as  they  give  the  habits  of  industry  and  acquisitiveness. 
If  a boy  is  clumsy  and  lazy,  we  shall  do  good  if  w^e  can  persuade 
him  to  carve  cherry-stones  and  fly  kites ; and  this  use  of  his  fingers 
and  limbs  may  eventually  be  the  cause  of  his  becoming  a wealthy 
and  happy  man  ; but  we  must  not  therefore  argue  that  cherry-stones 
are  valuable  property,  or  that  kite-flying  is  a profitable  mode  of  pass- 
ing time.  In  like  manner,  a nation  always  wastes  its  time  and 
labour  directlij^  when  it  invents  a new  want  of  a frivolous  kind, 
and  yet  the  invention  of  such  a want  may  be  the  sign  of  a healthy 
activity,  and  the  labour  undergone  to  satisfy  the  new  want  may 
lead,  indirectly^  to  useful  discoveries  or  to  noble  arts ; so  that  a 
nation  is  not  to  be  discouraged  in  its  fancies  when  it  is  either  too 

work  has  leen  dono  by  the  people,  who  have  been  paid  that  sum  for  it. 
■\Vliere  is  the  product  of  that  work?  By  your  own  statement,  wholly  con- 
sumed ; for  the  man  for  whom  it  has  been  done  is  now  a beggar.  You  have 
given  therefore,  as  a nation,  1,000,000  dollars  worth  of  work,  and  ten  years 
of  time,  and  you  have  produced,  as  ultimate  result,  one  beggar  1 Excellent 
econoni}',  gentlemen ; and  sure  to  conduce,  in  due  sequence,  to  the  produc- 
tion of  more  than  one  beggar.  Perhaps  the  matter  may  be  made  clearer  to 
)'OU,  however,  by  a more  familiar  instance.  If  a schoolboy  goes  out  in  tke 
morning  with- five  shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  comes  home  at  night  penniless, 
having  si)ent  his  all  in  tarts,  principal  and  interest  are  gone,  and  fruiterer 
and  baker  are  enriched.  So  far  so  good.  But  suppose  the  schoolboy,  instead, 
has  bought  a book  and  a knife ; principal  and  interest  are  gone,  and  book- 
seller and  ciitler  are  enriched.  But  the  schoolboy  is  enriched  also,  and  may 
help  his  schoolfellows  next  day  with  knife  and  book,  instead  of  lying  in  bed 
and  ineurring  a debt  to  the  doctor. 


ADDENDA. 


113 


weak  or  foolish  to  be  moved  to  exertion  by  anything  but  fancies, 
or  has  attended  to  its  serious  business  first.  If  a nation  will  not 
forge  iron,  but  likes  distilling  lavender,  by  all  means  give  it  laven- 
der to  distil ; only  do  not  let  its  economists  suppose  that  lavender 
is  as  profitable  to  it  as  oats,  or  that  it  helps  poor  people  to  live, 
any  more  than  the  schoolboy’s  kite  provides  him  his  dinner. 
Luxuries,  whether  national  or  personal,  must  be  paid  for  by  labour 
withdrawn  from  useful  things ; and  no  nation  has  a right  to 
indulge  in  them  until  all  its  poor  are  comfortably  housed  and  fed. 

The  enervating  influence  of  luxury,  and  its  tendencies  to  increase 
vice,  are  points  which  I keep  entirely  out  of  consideration  in  the 
present  essay : but,  so  far  as  they  bear  on  any  question  discussed, 
they  merely  furnish  additional  evidence  on  the  side  which  I have 
taken.  Thus,  in  the  present  case,  I assume  that  the  luxuries  of 
civilized  life  are  in  possession  harmless,  and  in  acquirement,  ser- 
viceable as  a motive  for  exertion ; and  even  on  these  favourable 
terms,  we  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the  nation  ought  not  to 
indulge  in  them  except  under  severe  limitations.  Much  less  ought 
it  to  indulge  in  them  if  the  temptation  consequent  on  their  posses- 
sion, or  fatality  incident  to  their  manufacture,  more  than  counter- 
balances the  good  done  by  the  effort  to  obtain  them. 


Note  Gth,  p.  52. — “ Economy  of  Literature.’''' 

I have  been  much  impressed  lately  by  one  of  the  results  of  the 
quantity  of  our  books  ; namely,  the  stern  impossibility  of  getting 
anything  understood,  that  required  patience  to  understand.  I 
observe  always,  in  the  case  of  my  own  writings,  that  if  ever  I 
state  anything  which  has  cost  me  any  trouble  to  ascertain,  and 
which,  therefore,  will  probably  require  a minute  or  two  of  reflec- 
tion from  the  reader  before  it  can  be  accepted, — that  statement 
will  not  only  be  misunderstood,  but  in  all  probability  taken  to 
mean  something  very  nearly  the  reverse  of  what  it  does  mean. 
Now,  whatever  faults  there  may  be  in  my  modes  of  expression,  I 
know  that  the  words  I use  will  always  be  found,  by  Johnson’s  dic- 
tionary, to  bear,  first  of  all,  the  sense  I use  them  in ; and  that  the 


J14 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


sentences,  iv'lietlier  awkwardly  turned  or  not,  will,  by  the  ordinary 
rules  of  grammar,  bear  no  other  interpretation  than  that  I mean 
them  to  bear  ; so  that  the  misunderstanding  of  them  must  result, 
ultimately,  from  the  mere  fact  that  their  matter  sometimes  requires 
a little  patience.  And  I see  the  same  kind  of  misinterpretation 
put  on  the  words  of  other  writers,  whenever  they  require  the  same 
kind  of  thought. 

I was  at  first  a little  despondent  about  this  ; but,  on  the  whole, 
I believe  it  will  have  a good  effect  upon  our  literature  for  some 
time  to  come  ; and  then,  perhaps,  the  public  may  recover  its 
patience  again.  For  certainly  it  is  excellent  discipline  for  an 
author  to  feel  that  he  must  say  all  he  has  to  say  in  the  fewest  pos- 
sible Avords,  or  his  reader  is  sure  to  skip  them ; and  in  the  plainest 
possible  words,  or  his  reader  will  certainly  misunderstand  them. 
Generally,  also,  a downright  fact  may  be  told  in  a plain  way ; and 
we  want  downright  facts  at  present  more  than  anything  else.  And 
though  I often  hear  moral  people  complaining  of  the  bad  effects 
of  Avant  of  thought,  for  my  part,  it  seems  to  me  that  one  of  the 
Avorst  diseases  to  Avhich  the  human  creature  is  liable  is  its  disease 
of  thinking.  If  it  Avould  only  just  look*  at  a thing  instead  of 
thinking  Avhat  it  must  be  like,  or  do  a thing,  instead  of  thinking  it 
cannot  be  done,  Ave  should  all  get  on  far  better. 


* There  can  be  no  question,  hoAvever,  of  the  mischievous  tendency  of  the 
hurry  of  the  present  day,  in  the  way  people  undertake  this  very  looking.  I 
gave  tliree  years’  close  and  incessant  labour  to  the  examination  of  the  chro- 
nology of  the  architecture  of  Venice  ; two  long  winters  being  wholly  spent 
in  the  drawing  of  details  on  the  spot:  and  yet  I see  constantly  that  architects 
Avlio  pass  throe  or  four  days  in  a gondola  going  up  and  down  the  grand  canal, 
think  that  their  first  impressions  are  just  as  likely  to  be  true  as  my  patiently 
wrought  conclusions.  Mr.  Street,  for  instance,  glances  hastily  at  the  facade 
of  the  Ducal  Palace — so  hastily  that  ho  does  not  even  see  what  its  pattern 
is,  and  misses  tlie  alternation  of  red  and  black  in  the  centres  of  its  squares — 
and  yet  he  instantly  ventures  on  an  opinion  on  the  chronology  of  its  capitals, 
Avliif.h  is  one  of  the  most  complicated  and  difficult  subjects  in  the  whole  range 
of  tiothic  archaoology.  It  may,  nevertheless,  bo  ascertained  Avith  very  fair 
probability  of  correctness  by  any  person  who  will  give  a month’s  hard  work 
to  it,  l)ut  it  can  bo  ascertained  no  otherwise. 


ADDENDA. 


llo 


Note  Yth,  p.  93. — '‘'■Pilots  of  the  State.’’'' 

"While,  however,  undoubtedly,  these  responsibilities  attach  to 
every  person  possessed  of  wealth,  it  is  necessary  both  to  avoid  any 
stringency  of  statement  respecting  the  benevolent  modes  of  spend- 
ing money,  and  to  admit  and  approve  so  much  liberty  of  spend- 
ing it  for  selfish  pleasures  as  may  distinctly  make  wealth  a personal 
reward  for  toil,  and  secure  in  the  minds  of  all  men  the  right  of 
property.  For  although,  without  doubt,  the  purest  pleasures  it 
can  procure  are  not  selfish,  it  is  only  as  a means  of  personal  grati- 
fication that  it  will  be  desired  by  a large  majority  of  Avorkers ; and 
it  would  be  no  less  false  ethics  than  false  policy  to  check  their 
energy  by  any  forms  of  public  opinion  Avhich  bore  hardly  against 
the  wanton  expenditure  of  honestly  got  wealth.  It  Avould  be  hard 
if  a man  Avho  had  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  at  the  desk 
or  counter  could  not  at  last  innocently  gratify  a caprice ; and  all 
the  best  and  most  sacred  ends  of  almsgiving  would  be  at  once  dis- 
appointed, if  the  idea  of  a moral  claim  took  the  place  of  affection- 
ate gratitude  in  the  mind  of  the  receiver. 

Some  distinction  is  made  by  us  naturally  in  this  respect  between 
earned  and  inherited  Avealth ; that  Avhich  is  inherited  appearing  to 
iiiA'olve  the  most  definite  responsibilities,  especially  when  consisting 
in  revenues  derived  from  the  soil.  The  form  of  taxation  Avhich 
constitutes  rental  of  lands  places  annually  a certain  portion  of  the 
national  wealth  in  the  hands  of  the  nobles,  or  other  proprietors  of 
the  soil,  under  conditions  peculiarly  calculated  to  induce  them  to 
give  their  best  care  to  its  efficient  administration.  The  want 
of  instruction  in  even  the  simplest  principles  of  commerce  and 
economy,  Avhich  hitherto  has  disgraced  our  schools  and  universi- 
ties, has  indeed  been  the  cause  of  ruin  or  total  inutility  of  life  to 
multitudes  of  our  men  of  estate  ; but  this  deficiency  in  our  public 
education  cannot  exist  much  longer,  and  it  appears  to  be  highly 
advantageous  for  the  State  that  a certain  number  of  persons  dis- 
tinguished by  race  should  be  permitted  to  set  examples  of  Avise 
expenditure,  whether  in  the  advancement  of  science,  or  in  patron- 
age of  art  and  literature ; only  they  must  see  to  it  that  they  take 


116 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


their  right  standing  more  firmly  than  they  have  done  hitherto, 
for  the  position  of  a rich  man  in  relation . to  those  around  him 
is,  in  our  present  real  life,  and  is  also  contemplated  generally  by 
political  economists  as  being,  precisely  the  reverse  of  what  it 
ought  to  be.  A rich  man  ought  to  be  continually  examining  how 
he  may  spend  his  money  for  the  advantage  of  others;  at  present, 
others  are  continually  plotting  how  they  may  beguile  him  into 
spending  it  apparently  for  his  own.  The  aspect  which  he  presents 
to  the  eyes  of  the  world  is  generally  that  of  a person  holding  a 
bag  of  money  with  a staunch  grasp,  and  resolved  to  part  with 
none  of  it  unless  he  is  forced,  and  all  the  people  about  him  are 
plotting  how  they  may  force  him  ; that  is  to  say,  how  they  may 
persuade  him  that  he  wants  this  thing  or  that ; or  how  they  may 
produce  things  that  he  will  covet  and  buy.  One  man  tries  to  per- 
suade hiin  that  he  wants  perfumes ; another  that  he  wants  jewel- 
lery; another  that  he  wants  sugarplums;  another  that  he  wants 
roses  at  Clnistmas.  Anybody  who  can  invent  a new  want  for  him 
is  supposed  to  be  a benefactor  to  society  ; and  thus  the  energies 
of  the  poorer  people  about  him  are  continually  directed  to  the 
production  of  covetable,  instead  of  serviceable  things;  and  the  rich 
man  has  the  general  aspect  of  a fool,  plotted  against  by  all  the 
world.  Whereas  the  real  aspect  whicli  he  ought  to  have  is  that 
of  a person  wiser  than  others,  entrusted  with  the  inanagement  of 
a larger  quantity  of  capital,  which  he  administers  for  the  profit  of 
all,  directing  each  man  to  the  labour  which  is  most  healthy  for 
him,  and  most  serviceable  for  the  community. 


Note  8th,  p.  93. — “'iSz'Z/j  and  Purple." 

In  various  places  throughout  these  lectures  I have  had  to  allude 
to  the  distinction  between  productive  and  unproductive  labour,, 
aixl  between  tnie  and  false  wealth.  I shall  here  endeavour,  as 
clearly  as  I can,  to  ex])laiii  the  distinction  I mean. 

l’ro))crty  may  be  divided  generally  into  two  kinds  ; that  which 
]»roduces  life,  and  that  which  produces  the  objects  of  life.  That 
which  produces  or  maintains  life  consists  of  food,  in  so  far  as  it  is 


ADDENDA. 


m 


nourishing;  of  furniture  and  clothing,  in  so  far  as  they  are  pro- 
tective or  cherishing ; of  fuel ; and  of  all  land,  instruments,  or 
materials,  necessary  to  produce  food,  houses,  clothes,  and  fuel.  It 
is  specially  and  rightly  called  useful  property. 

The  property  which  produces  the  objects  of  life  consists  of  all 
that  gives  pleasure  or  suggests  and  preserves  thought : of  food, 
furniture,  and  land,  in  so  far  as  they  are  pleasing  to  the  appetite  or 
the  eye ; of  luxurious  dress,  and  all  other  kinds  of  luxuries ; of 
books,  pictures,  and  architecture.  But  the  modes  of  connection 
of  certain  minor  forms  of  property  with  human  labour  render  it 
desirable  to  arrange  them  under  more  than  these  two  heads. 
Property  may  therefore  be  conveniently  considered  as  of  five 
kinds. 

1st.  Property  necessary  to  life,  but  not  producible  by  labour, 
and  therefore  belonging  of  right,  in  a due  measure,  to  every 
human  being  as  soon  as  he  is  born,  and  morally  inalienable.  As 
for  instance,  his  proper  share  of  the  atmosphere,  without  which  he 
cannot  breathe,  and  of  water,  which  he  needs  to  quench  his  thirst. 
As  much  land  as  he  needs  to  feed  from  is  also  inalienable;  but  in 
well  regulated  communities  this  quantity  of  land  may  often  be 
represented  by  other  possessions,  or  its  need  supplied  by  wages 
and  privileges. 

2.  Property  necessary  to  life,  but  only  producible  by  labour, 
and  of  which  the  possession  is  morally  connected  with  labour,  so 
that  no  person  capable  of  doing  the  work  necessary  for  its  pro- 
duction has  a right  to  it  until  he  has  done  that  work; — “he  that 
will  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat.”  It  consists  of  simple  food, 
clothing,  and  habitation,  with  their  seeds  and  materials,  or  instru- 
ments and  machinery,  and  animals  used  for  necessary  draught  or 
locomotion,  Ac.  It  is  to  be  observed  of  this  kind  of  property, 
that  its  increase  cannot  usually  be  carried  beyond  a certain  point, 
because  it  depends  not  on  labour  only,  but  on  things  of  which  the 
supply  is  limited  by  nature.  The  possible  accumulation  of  corn 
depends  on  the  quantity  of  corn-growing  land  possessed  or  com- 
mercially accessible  ; and  that  of  steel,  similarly,  on  the  accessible 
quantity  of  coal  and  ironstone.  It  follows  from  this  natural 
limitation  of  supply  that  the  accumulation  of  property  of  this  kind 


118 


rOLlTICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


in  large  masses  at  one  point,  or  in  one  person’s  hands,  commonly 
involves,  more  or  less,  the  scarcity  of  it  at  another  point  and  in 
other  persons’  hands;  so  that  the  accidents  or  energies  which  may 
enable  one  man  to  procure  a great  deal  of  it,  may,  and  in  all  like- 
lihood will  partially  prevent  other  men  procuring  a sufficiency  of 
it,  however  willing  they  may  be  to  work  for  it ; therefore,  the 
modes  of  its  accumulation  and  distribution  need  to  be  in  some 
degree  regulated  by  law  and  by  national  treaties,  in  order  to 
secure  justice  to  all  men. 

Another  point  requiring  notice  respecting  this  sort  of  property 
is,  that  no  work  can  be  wasted  in  producing  it,  provided  only  the 
kind  of  it  produced  be  preservable  and  distributable,  since  for 
every  grain  of  such  commodities  we  produce  we  are  rendering  so 
much  more  life  possible  on  earth.'^*  But  though  we  are  sure,  thus, 
that  we  are  employing  people  well,  we  cannot  be  sure  we  might 
not  have  employed  them  better  ; for  it  is  possible  to  direct  labour 
to  the  production  of  life,  until  little  or  none  is  left  for  that  of  the 
objects  of  life,  and  thus  to  increase  population  at  the  expense  of 

* This  point  has  sometimes  been  disputed ; for  instance,  opening  Mill’s 
Political  Economy  the  other  day,  I chanced  on  a passage  in  which  he  says 
that  a man  who  makes  a coat,  if  the  person  who  wears  the  coat  does  nothing 
useful  while  he  wears  it,  has  done  no  more  good  to  society  than  the  man 
who  has  only  raised  a pine-apple.  But  this  is  a fallacy  induced  by  endeavour 
after  too  much  subtlety.  None  of  us  have  a right  to  say  that  the  life  of  a 
man  is  of  no  use  to  Mm,  though  it  may  be  of  no  use  to  us ; and  the  man 
who  made  tlie  coat,  and  therebj'-  prolonged  another  man’s  life,  has  done  a 
gracious  and  useful  work,  wliatever  may  come  of  the  life  so  prolonged.  We 
may  say  to  the  wearer  of  the  coat,  “ You  who  are  wearing  coats,  and  doing 
notliing  in  llicin,  are  at  present  wasting  your  own  life  and  other  people’s;” 
but  wo  have  no  right  to  say  that  his  existence,  however  wasted,  is  wasted 
away.  It  may  Ijc  just  dragging  itself  on,  in  its  thin  golden  line,  with  nothing 
dependent  upon  it,  to  the  point  where  it  is  to  strengthen  into  good  chain 
cable,  and  liavo  tliousands  of  other  lives  dependent  on  it.  Meantime,  the 
simple  fact  respect  ing  tlie  coat-maker  is,  that  he  has  given  so  much  life  to 
the  creature,  tiio  results  of  wliich  ho  cannot  calculate;  they  may  be — in  all 
probability  will  Ijc — inlinite  results  in  some  way.  But  the  raiser  of  pines, 
who  has  only  given  a j)leasant  taste  in  the  mouth  to  some  one,  may  see  with 
tolerable  clearness  to  tlie  end  of  the  taste  in  the  mouth,  and  of  all  conceiv- 
able results  therefrom. 


ADDENDA. 


119 


civilization,  learning,  and  morality : on  the  other  hand,  it  is  just 
as  possible — and  the  error  is  one  to  which  the  world  is,  on  the 
whole,  more  liable — to  direct  labour  to  the  objects  of  life  till  too 
little  is  left  for  life,  and  thus  to  increase  luxury  or  learning  at  the 
expense  of  population.  Right  political  economy  holds  its  aim 
poised  justly  between  the  two  extremes,  desiring  neither  to  crowd 
its  dominions  with  a race  of  savages,  nor  to  found  courts  and 
colleges  in  the  midst  of  a desert. 

3.  The  third  kind  of  property  is  that  which  conduces  to  bodily 
pleasures  and  conveniences,  without  directly  tending  to  sustain 
life ; perhaps  sometimes  indirectly  tending  to  destroy  it.  All 
dainty  (as  distinguished  from  nourishing)  food,  and  means  of  pro- 
ducing it ; all  scents  not  needed  for  health  ; substances  valued 
only  for  their  appearance  and  rarity  (as  gold  and  jewels) ; flowers 
of  difficult  culture ; animals  used  for  delight  (as  horses  for  racing), 
and  such  like,  form  property  of  this  class ; to  which  the  term 
“ luxury,  or  luxuries,”  ought  exclusively  to  belong. 

Respecting  which  we  have  to  note,  flrst,  that  all  such  property 
is  of  doubtful  advantage  even  to  its  possessor.  Furniture  tempting 
to  indolence,  sweet  odours,  and  luscious  food,  are  more  or  less  in- 
jurious to  health  : while,  jewels,  liveries,  and  other  such  common 
belongings  of  wealthy  people,  certainly  eonvey  no  pleasure  to 
their  owners  proportionate  to  their  cost. 

Farther,  such  property,  for  the  most  part,  perishes  in  the  using. 
Jewels  form  a great  exception — but  rich  food,  fine  dresses,  horses 
and  carriages,  are  consumed  by  the  owner’s  use.  Tt  ought  much 
oftener  be  brought  to  the  notice  of  rich  men  what  sums  of  interest 
of  money  they  are  paying  towards  the  close  of  their  lives,  for  luxu- 
ries consumed  in  the  middle  of  them.  It  would  be  very  interest- 
ing, for  instance,  to  know  the  exact  sum  which  the  money  spent 
in  London  for  ices,  at  its  desserts  and  balls,  during  the  last  twenty 
years  had  it  been  saved  and  put  out  at  compound  interest,  would 
at  this  moment  have  furnished  for  useful  purposes. 

Also,  in  most  cases,  the  enjoyment  of  such  property  is  wholly 
selfish,  and  limited  to  its  possessor.  Splendid  dress  and  equipage, 
however,  when  so  arranged  as  to  produce  real  beauty  of  effect,  may 
often  be  rather  a generous  than  a selfish  channel  of  expenditure. 


120 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


Tliey  will,  however,  necessarily  in  such  case  involve  some  of  the 
arts  of  design  ; and  therefore  take  their  place  in  a higher  category 
than  that  of  luxuries  merely. 

4.  The  fourth  kind  of  property  is  tha,t  which  bestows  intellectual 
or  emotional  pleasure,  consisting  of  land  set  apart  for  purposes  of 
delight  more  than  for  agriculture,  of  books,  works  of  art,  and 
objects  of  natural  history. 

It  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  fix  an  accurate  limit  between  pro- 
perty of  the  last  class  and  of  this  class,  since  things  which  are  a 
mere  luxuiy  to  one  person  are  a means  of  intellectual  occupation 
to  another.  Flowers  in  a London  ball-room  are  a luxury;  in  a 
botanical  garden,  a delight  of  the  intellect ; and  in  their  native 
fields,  both ; while  the  most  noble  works  of  art  are  continually 
made  material  of  vulgar  luxury  or  of  criminal  pride ; but,  when 
rightl}^  used,  property  of  this  fourth  class  is  the  only  kind  which 
deserves  the  name  of  real  property ; it  is  the  only  kind  which  a 
man  can  truly  be  said  to  “ possess.”  What  a man  eats,  or  drinks, 
or  wears,  so  long  as  it  is  only  what  is  needful  for  life,  can  no  more 
lie  thought  of  as  his  possession  than  the  air  he  breathes.  The  air 
is  as  needful  to  him  as  the  food ; but  we  do  not  talk  of  a man’s 
wealth  of  air,  and  what  food  or  clothing  a man  possesses  more  than 
lie  himself  recpiires,  must  be  for  others  to  use  (and,  to  him,  there- 
fore, not  a i-cal  property  in  itself,  but  only  a means  of  obtaining 
some  real  property  in  exchange  for  it).  Whereas  the  things  that 
give  intellectual  or  emotional  enjoyment  may  be  accumulated  and 
do  not  perish  in  using ; but  continually  supply  new  pleasures  and 
new  powers  of  giving  pleasures  to  others.  And  these,  therefore, 
are  the  only  things  which  can  rightly  be  thought  of  as  giving 
“wealth  ” or  “well  being.”  Food  conduces  only  to  “being,”  but 
tliesc;  to  “ well  being.”  And  there  is  not  any  broader  general  dis- 
tinction between  lower  and  higher  orders  of  men  than  rests  on 
their  possession  of  this  real  property.  The  human  race  may  be 
properly  divided  by  zoologists  into  “men  who  have  gardens,  libra- 
i-ies,  or  works  of  art ; and  who  have  none ;”  and  the  former  class 
will  include  all  noble  persons,  except  only  a few  who  make  the 
world  their  garden  or  museum  ; while  the  people  who  have  not^ 
or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  do  not  care  for  gardens  or  libraries. 


ADDENDA. 


121 


but  care  for  nothing  but  money  or  luxuries,  will  include  none  but 
ignoble  persons : only  it  is  necessary  to  understand  that  1 mean  by 
the  term  “ garden  ” as  much  the  Carthusian’s  plot  of  ground  fifteen 
feet  square  between  his  monastery  buttresses,  as  I do  the  grounds 
of  Chatsworth  or  Kew ; and  I mean  by  the  term  “ art  ” as  much 
the  old  sailor’s  print  of  the  Arethusa  bearing  up  to  engage  the 
Belle  Poule,  as  I do  Raphael’s  “ Disputa,”  and  even  rather  more ; 
for  when  abundant,  beautiful  possessions  of  this  kind  are  almost 
always  associated  with  vulgar  luxuiy,  and  become  then  anything 
but  indicative  of  noble  character  in  their  possessors.  The  ideal  of 
human  life  is  a union  of  Spartan  simplicity  of  manners  with  Athe- 
nian sensibility  and  imagination,  but  in  actual  results,  we  are  con- 
tinually mistaking  ignorance  for  simplicity,  and  sensuality  for 
refinement. 

5.  The  fifth  kind  of  propeity  is  representative  property,  consist- 
ing of  documents  or  money,  or  rather  documents  only,  for  money 
itself  is  only  a transferable  document,  current  among  societies  of 
men,  giving  claim,  at  sight,  to  some  definite  benefit  or  advantage, 
most  commonly  to  a certain  share  of  real  property  existing  in  those 
societies.  The  money  is  only  genuine  when  the  property  it  gives 
claim  to  is  real,  or  the  advantages  it  gives  claim  to  certain  ; other- 
wise, it  is  false,  money,  and  may  be  considered  as  much  “ forged  ” 
when  issued  by  a government,  or  a bank,  as  when  by  an  individual. 
Thus,  if  a dozen  of  men,  cast  ashore  on  a desert  island,  pick  up  a 
number  of  stones,  put  a red  spot  on  each  stone,  and  pass  a law 
that  every  stone  marked  with  a red  spot  shall  give  claim  to  a peck 
of  wheat ; — so  long  as  no  wheat  exist-s,  or  can  exist,  on  the  island, 
the  stones  are  not  money.  But  the  moment  so  much  wheat  exists 
as  shall  render  it  possible  for  the  society  always  to  give  a peck  for 
every  spotted  stone,  the  spotted  stones  would  become  money,  and 
might  be  exchanged  by  their  possessors  for  whatever  other  com- 
modities they  chose,  to  the  value  of  the  peck  of  wheat  which  the 
Stones  represented.  If  more  stones  were  issued  than  the  quantity 
of  wheat  could  answer  the  demand  of,  the  value  of  the  stone 
coinage  would  be  depreciated,  in  proportion  to  its  increase  above 
the  quantity  needed  to  answer  it. 

Again,  supposing  a certain  number  of  the  men  so  cast  ashore 
' " 6 


122 


POLITICAL  ECONOlVlY  OF  AKT. 


were  set  aside  by  lot,  or  any  other  convention,  to  do  the  roughet 
labour  necessary  for  the  whole  society,  they  themselves  being 
maintained  by  the  daily  allotment  of  a certain  quantity  of  food, 
clothing,  &c.  Then,  if  it  were  agreed  that  the  stones  spotted  with 
red  should  be  signs  of  a Government  order  foT  the  labour  of  these 
men ; and  that  any  person  presenting  a spotted  stoiie  at  the  office 
of  the  labourers,  should  be  entitled  to  a man’s  work  for  a week 
or  a day,  the  red  stones  would  be  money  ; and  might — probably 
■would, — immediately  pass  current  in  the  island  for  as  much  food, 
or  clothing,  or  iron,  or  any  other  article  as  a man’s  work  for  the 
period  secured  by  the  stone  was  worth.  But  if  the  Government 
issued  so  many  spotted  stones  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  body 
of  men  they  employed  to  comply  with  the  orders ; as,  suppose,  if 
they  only  employed  twelve  men,  and  issued  eighteen  spotted  stones, 
daily,  ordering  a day’s  work  each,  then  the  six  extra  stones  would 
bo  forged  or  false  money ; and  the  effect  of  this  forgery  would  be 
the  depreciation  of  the  value  of  the  whole  coinage  by  one-third, 
that  being  the  period  of  shortcoming  which  would,  on  the  average, 
necessarily  ensue  in  the  execution  of  each  order.  Much  occasional 
work  may  be  done  in  a state  or  society,  by  help  of  an  issue  of  false 
money  (or  false  promises)  by  way  of  stimulants;  and  the  fruit  of 
tills  work,  if  it  comes  into  the  promiser’s  hands,  may  sometimes 
enable  the  false  promises  at  last  to  be  fulfilled  : hence  the  frequent 
Issue  of  false  money  by  governments  and  banks,  and  the  not  unfre- 
(juent  escapes  from  the  natural  and  proper  consequences  of  such 
false  issues,  so  as  to  cause  a confused  conception  in  most  people’s 
minds  of  what  money  really  is.  I am  not  sure  whether  some 
(inantity  of  such  false  issue  may  not  really  be  permissible  in  a 
nation,  accurately  proportioned  to  the  minimum  average  produce 
of  the  labour  it  excites;  but  all  such  procedures  arc  more  or  less 
unsound ; and  the  notion  of  unlimited  issue  of  currency  is  simply 
one  of  the  absurdcst  and  most  monstrous  that  ever  came  into  dis- 
jointed Inimau  wits.  ' 

dhc  use  of  objects  of  real  or  supposed  value  for  currency,  as 
gold,  jewellery,  etc.,  is  barbarous ; and  it  always  expresses  either 
the  measure  of  the  distrust  in  the  society  of  its  own  government, 
or  the  proportion  of  distrustful  or  barbarous  nations  with  whom  it 


ADDENDA. 


123 


Las  to  tleal.  A metal  not  easily  corroded  or  imitated,  is  a desiraLlc 
medium  of  currency  for  the  sake  of  cleanliness  and  convenience, 
but  were  it  possible  to  prevent  forgery,  the  more  worthless  the 
metal  itself,  the  better.  The  use  of  worthless  media,  unrestrained 
by  the  use  of  valuable  media,  has  always  hitherto  involved,  and  is 
therefore  supposed  to  involve  necessarily,  unlimited,  or  at  least 
improperly  extended,  issue ; but  we  might  as  well  suppose  that  a 
man  must  necessarily  issue  unlimited  promises  because  his  words 
cost  nothing.  Intercourse  with  foreign  nations  must,  indeed,  for 
ages  yet  to  come,  at  the  world’s  present  rate  of  progress,  be  car- 
ried  on  by  valuable  currencies;  but  such  transactions  are  nothing 
more  than  forms  nf  barter.  The  gold  used  at  present  as  a currency 
is  not,  in  point  of  hict,  currency  at  all,  but  the  real  property^' 
which  the  currency  gives  claim  to,  stamped  to  measure  its  quan- 
tity, and  mingling  with  the  real  currency  occasionally  by  barter. 

The  evils  necessarily  resulting  from  the  use  of  baseless  curren- 
cies have  been  terribly  illustrated  while  these  sheets  have  been 
passing  through  the  press  ; I have  not  had  time  to  examine  the 
V arious  conditions  of  dishonest  or  absurd  trading  which  have  led 
to  the  late  “ panic”  in  America  and  England ; this  only  I know, 
that  no  merchant  deserving  the  name  ought  to  be  more  liable  to 
“ panic”  than  a soldier  should  ; for  his  name  should  never  be  on 
more  paper  than  he  can  at  any  instant  meet  the  call  ot‘  happen 
what  will.  I do  not  say  this  without  feeling  at  the  same  time 
liow  difficult  it  is  to  mark,  in  existing  commerce,  the  just  limits 
between  the  spirit  of  enterprise  and  of  speculation.  Something  of 

* Or  rather,  equivalent  to  such  real  property,  because  eveiybody  has  been 
accustomed  to  look  upon  it  as  valuable ; and  therefore  everybody  is  willing 
to  give  labour  or  goods  for  it.  But  real  property  does  ultimately  consist  only 
in  things  that  nourish  the  body  or  mind ; gold  would  be  useless  to  us  if  we 
could  not  get  mutton  or  books  for  it.  Ultimately  all  commercial  mistakes 
and  embarrassments  result  from  people  expecting  to  get  goods  without  work- 
ing for  them,  or  wasting  them  after  they  have  got  them.  A nation  which 
labours,  and  takes  care  of  the  fruits  of  labour,  would  bo  rich  and  happy ; 
though  there  were  no  gold  in  the  universe.  A nation  which  is  idle,  and 
wastes  the  produce  of  what  work  it  does,  would  be  poor  and  miserable, 
though  all  its  momitains  were  of  gold,  and  had  glens  lllled  with  diamond 
instead  of  glacier. 


124 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY  OF  ART. 


the  same  temper  which  makes  the  English  soldier  do  always  all 
that  is  possible,  and  attempt  more  than  is  possible,  joins  its  influ- 
ence with  that  of  mere  avarice  in  tempting  the  English  merchant 
into  risks  w^hich  he  cannot  justify,  and  eftbrts  which  he  cannot 
sustain ; and  the  same  passion  for  adventure  which  our  travellers 
gratify  every  summer  on  perilous  snow  wreaths,  and  cloud-encom- 
passed precipices,  surrounds  with  a romantic  fascination  the  glit- 
tering of  a hollow  investment,  and  gilds  the  clouds  that  curl  round 
gulfs  of  ruin.  Nay,  a higher  and  a more  serious  feeling  frequent^ 
mingles  in  the  motley  temptation ; and  men  apply  themselves  to 
the  task  of  growing  rich,  as  to  a labour  of  providential  appoint- 
ment, from  which  they  cannot  pause  without  culpability,  nor  retire 
wdthout  dishonour.  Our  large  trading  cities  bear  to  me  very 
nearly  the  aspect  of  monastic  establishments  in  which  the  roar  of 
the  mill-wdieel  and  the  crane  takes  the  place  of  other  devotional 
music  : and  in  which  the  worship  of  Mammon  and  Moloch  is  con- 
ducted with  a tender  reverence  and  an  exact  propriety  : the  mer- 
chant risino-  to  his  Mammon  matins  with  the  self-denial  of  an  ancho- 

O 

rite,  and  expiating  the  frivolities  into  which  he  may  be  beguiled  in 
the  course  of  the  day  by  late  attendance  at  Mammon  vespers. 
But,  with  every  allow^anee  that  can  be  made  for  these  conscien- 
tious and  romantic  persons,  the  fact  remains  the  same,  that  by  far 
the  greater  number  of  the  transactions  which  lead  to  these  times 
of  commercial  embarrassment  may  be  ranged  simply  under  two 
great  heads, — gambling  and  stealing;  and  both  of  these  in  their 
most  culpal)le  form,  namely,  gambling  with  money  which  is  not 
ours,  and  stealing  from  those  who  trust  us.  I have  sometimes 
thought  a day  might  come,  when  the  nation  wmuld  perceive  that 
a well-educated  man  who  steals  a hundred  thousand  pounds,  involv- 
ing Ihe  entire  means  of  subsistence  of  a hundred  families,  deserves, 
on  tlie  whole,  as  severe  a punishment  as  an  ill-educated  man 
who  steals  a piii’sc  from  a pocket,  or  a mug  from  a pantry.  But 
without  hoping  for  this  success  of  clear-sightedness,  Ave  may  at 
least  labour  for  a system  of  greater  honesty  and  kindness  in  the 
minor  commerce  of  our  daily  life  ; since  the  great  dishonesty  of 
the  great  buyers  and  sellers  is  nothing  more  than  the  natural 
growth  and  outcome  from  the  little  dishonesty  of  the  little  buyers 


ADDENDA. 


125 


and  sellers.  Every  person  wlio  tries  to  buy  an  article  for  less  than 
its  proper  value,  or  wlio  tries  to  sell  it  at  more  than  its  proper 
value — every  consumer  who  keeps  a tradesman  waiting  for  iiis 
money,  and  every  tradesman  who  bribes  a consumer  to  extrava- 
gance by  credit,  is  helping  forward,  according  to  his  own  measure 
of  power,  a system  of  baseless  and  dishonourable  commerce,  and 
forcing  his  country  down  into  poverty  and  shame.  And  people 
of  moderate  means  and  average  powers  of  mind  would  do  far  more 
real  good  by  merely  carrying  out  stern  principles  of  justice  and 
honesty  in  common  matters  of  trade,  than  by  the  most  ingenious 
schemes  of  extended  philanthrop}^,  or  vociferous  declarations  of 
theological  doctrine.  There  are  three  weighty  matters  of  the  law 
— ^justice,  mercy,  and  truth  ; and  of  these  the  Teacher  puts  truth 
last,  because  that  cannot  be  known  but  by  a course  of  acts  of  jus- 
tice and  love.  But  men  put,  in  all  their  efforts,  truth  first, 
because  they  mean  by  it  their  own  opinions  ; and  thus,  while  the 
world  has  many  people  who  would  suffer  martyrdom  in  the  cause 
of  what  they  call  truth,  it  has  few  who  will  suffer  even  a little 
inconvenience  in  that  of  justice  and  mercy. 


6* 


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GINEERING FOR  THE  USE  OF  THE  CADETS  OF  THE  U.  8.  MILITARY 
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MAHAN  (PROF.  D.  H.,  LL  D.)  A TREATISE  ON  FIELD  FORTIFICATIONS; 
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Attacking  Intrenchments.  With  the  General  Outlines,  also,  of  the  Arrangement,  the 
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MAHAN  (PROF.  D.  H.,  LL.D.)  AN  ELEMENTARY  TREATISE  ON  AD- 
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and  the  Manner  of  Posting  and  Handling  them  in  the  Presence  of  an  Enemy.  With 
ft  Historical  Sketch  of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Tactics,  &c.  &c.,  intended  as  a Supple- 
ment to  the  System  of  Tactics  adopted  for  the  Military  Service  of  the  United  States, 
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Fall  cloth 2 Oil 

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FAIRBAIRN  (WM.)  C.E.,  F.R.S.,  ETC.  ON  THE  APPLICATION  OF  CAST 
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cuts.  Cloth 2 OC 

“No  engineer  can  do  without  this  book.” — Scientifio  American. 


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SMITH  (LIEUT.  R.  S.)  A MANUAL  OF  TOPOGRAPHICAL  DRAWING.  By 
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West  Point.  1 vol.  8vo.  Plates  Cloth 1 50 

“ We  regard  the  work  as  a choice  addition  to  the  library  of  science  and  art,  and  one 
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2 


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NORDHEIMER  (DR.  ISAAC.)  CHRESTOMA.THY;  or,  a Grammatical  Analysis 
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RUSK  IN  (JOHN.)  MODERN  PAINTHRS.  By  a Graduate  of  Oxford.  2 vols. 

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RUSKIN  (JOHN.)  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE.  The  Foundations.  By  the 
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RUSKIN  (JOHN.)  LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE  AND  PAINTING.  De- 
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